


Righteous Demon

by Psynatural



Series: Latent Light [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Dean Winchester, Brotherly Love, Castiel and Bees, Castiel's True Form, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Crowley Being Crowley, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Dean Winchester Has Powers, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon!Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Blade, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Knight of Hell Dean, Language Kink, M/M, Mark of Cain, Plot Twists, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Profound Bond, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Has Powers, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 60
Words: 93,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psynatural/pseuds/Psynatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean struggles not to lose sight of who he is, despite becoming a demon.  Sam and Cas are both determined to help him cope until they figure out how to save him.  But the road back to humanity is full of complications, twists, and temptations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Kind of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Just another fangirl who thinks that the summer Hellatus is too long, and agrees with Misha that the fans (and characters) might need a little "therapy" after the eye-opening season finale.
> 
> This story will be fairly long.
> 
> Canon-level violence, nothing too extreme.
> 
> Slow-build Destiel, and not the center of the story (and nothing explicit). Canon at the end of season 9 practically screamed Castiel's feelings (as season 8 did with Dean's feelings), so it's really up to Dean.
> 
> Obviously this will be FULL OF SPOILERS through the end of season 9, with a healthy sprinkling of references to all the previous seasons.
> 
> Maybe if I'm really lucky TPTB will steal some of my ideas for the show ;D
> 
> ETA: This fic was planned right after the season 9 finale, and the version of Demon Dean here has some significant differences from the version on the show.
> 
> Please do NOT repost my stories on other sites (this includes unauthorized translations). On the other hand, link backs are strongly encouraged.
> 
> ❤ ❤ FEEDBACK and COMMENTS are loved ❤ ❤

Dean felt himself dying, again.  He knew from experience that he only had a few seconds left.

“Sam, hold up.  I gotta say something.”

“What?”

For a man of few words, there was suddenly a lot that he wanted to say.  Needed to say.  How sorry he was for everything that he had put Sam through.  How much he regretted spending their last few months together fighting.  How he forgave Sam for everything.  Blanket apology for all the crap that anybody's done all the way around.  But most of all, how much he loved his little brother.

“I’m proud of us.”

Dean’s world faded to black.  Sam’s desperate clinging to his lifeless body growing fainter.  Sam’s devastated sobs echoing through him long after he lost consciousness.

 

___

 

"You draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately it was all about saving one human, right?"

Castiel didn't want to give Metatron the dignity of a response, even though deep down he knew the words were true.  Everything he had ever done, he had done for Dean.  He had rebelled against everything he had ever known and believed in, for Dean.  He had completely reinvented himself, for Dean.  Even when Dean though he had betrayed him, back when he was foolish enough to gulp down the souls of Purgatory, he had done it to try to keep Dean safe.  He had died for Dean multiple times, and gladly would again.  He’d given up his angel army, risking the future of all of Heaven and Earth, all for Dean.  But all the angels secretly listening in to this conversation didn't need any more reasons to question his loyalties, so he kept his mouth shut.  Surely Metatron would monologue himself into a full confession without much prodding.

"Well, guess what – he's dead, too."

Castiel’s world shattered.  No.  It couldn't be true.  Not Dean. 

Metatron had to be messing with his head.  He had to finish his mission.  It was what Dean would want.

But then he saw the angel blade, still wet with blood.  _Dean’s blood_.  It still carried traces of Dean’s energy.  Castiel couldn't stop the tears welling up in his eyes.

He wanted to end Metatron.  But that wouldn't bring Dean back.  So he kept his promise to Hannah and let her take Metatron to the prison.

He’d never wished more for his wings, and the full powers of Heaven.  He wanted nothing more than to fly instantly to Dean’s side and try to revive him.  But he knew that his weakened Grace wouldn't even be able to heal bruises.

Castiel had never felt so powerless, even when he had been completely human.  Or so lost.

 

___

 

Sounds slowly started to filter in to Dean’s isolated world of darkness.  As the sounds started to become more distinct, he realized that it was Crowley’s voice.  It figured that his latest version of Hell was listening to Crowley monologue for all of eternity.  But he couldn't help but cling to the sound of that voice, his only connection to anything outside the darkness and silence he was trapped in.

Crowley was jabbering on about the First Blade and Cain again, which were not Dean’s favorite topics at the moment.  It was the reason why he’d gotten himself killed again, all the while letting down Sammy and Cas who had been counting on him to at least take down Metatron before he died.

Dean suddenly felt something.  The return of the sensation of touch was almost overwhelming.  There was something in his hand.  _He still had hands_.  Instinctively he knew that it was the First Blade, and he felt it’s power seeping through his body, reawakening him.  But something felt different.

“Open your eyes Dean, see what I see, feel what I feel. Let's go take a howl at that moon.”

Dean opened his eyes.  This wasn't Hell, or the Veil.  He was in his own room.  _He was home_.  And from the solid feel of the bed behind him, he must be alive.  How?  Had Sammy managed to find some spell after all, and somehow gotten Crowley to help?

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, trying to take it all in.  If the First Blade still affected him, then he must still have the Mark of Cain.  It would surely kill him again.  Sam should have listened to him and let him die.

With a sigh, he glanced around the room, expecting to see Sam hovering somewhere nearby. 

Dean jolted back when he saw Crowley, eyes widening in horror.  He didn't just see the face of Crowley’s meatsuit.  He could see Crowley’s true face.

“No,” Dean said, not wanting to believe what he knew this meant.  “What have you done to me you son of a bitch?”

“ _Weren't you listening?_   The First Blade isn't finished with you.  It’s given you a new kind of life,” Crowley retorted.

“I _’m a demon?_ ” Dean felt like his mind should be screaming, but the First Blade’s calming effect kept him from completely losing it.

“Not just any demon – the new Knight of Hell.  Sole Survivor in a brave new world.”  Crowley paused as Dean gaped at the First Blade still clutched in his hand.  “But I suppose that I’ve delayed answering Moose’s summoning long enough.”  Crowley snapped his fingers and was gone.

 _Summoning?  Sam?_   Dean snapped out of it, leaped out of his bed, and raced down the hallway.

 

___

 

“CROWLEY!  YOU HAVE TO FIX THIS!”  Sam yelled again into the empty dungeon.  His throat felt raw from the crying, and from all the yelling he’d been doing while waiting for Crowley to show.

“Let me guess,” Crowley droned as he suddenly appeared.  “Another resurrection, blah blah.  But as much as I’d like your soul, I’m not collecting today.”

Sam turned to face Crowley, fire in his eyes.  He would find some way to make Crowley give him Dean back.  He had to.

“SAMMY!  SAAAAAAM!”

The familiar voice stopped Sam cold in his tracks.  It couldn't be.  Could it?  He spun around just in time to see Dean race into the room, First Blade in hand.

“Don’t you DARE sell your soul to fix this!” Dean bellowed angrily.

Dean.   _He was alive_.  Shock and relief ran through him, and Sam wanted nothing more than to embrace his brother.  He didn't even care if it was really a shapeshifter, so long as the shifter killed him so he could be reunited with the real Dean.  But Sam’s instincts told him that this really _was_ Dean.  Sam started towards his brother, then suddenly noticed the look on his brother’s face.  Dean’s words echoed in his head.  He had been too stunned to pay them much attention before, and being drunk certainly didn't help the slow realization of what Dean was saying.

“Fix this?” Sam repeated, staring at Dean.  _There was always a price_.

“You were right – the First Blade changed me,” Dean said slowly.  He tensed, and met Sam’s eyes.  Dean’s eyes flicked from green to black.

Time seemed to stand still as Sam’s head whirled.  He’d just watched Dean die again.  Now suddenly Dean was a demon?  _He couldn't lose him.  Not again._

Sam pulled his brother into a hug, which was clearly not the reaction Dean was expecting.

“Sammy . . . .”

“It’s okay Dean!  We’ll get through this like we always do.  We already know how to cure demons,” Sam told him, trying to be strong for his brother’s sake.  He realized that this was why Dean had wanted to die – he hadn't wanted to become a demon, the very thing that he hated most.  Sam winced as Dean pulled away from him abruptly.

“No, Sam – we can’t do that,” Dean told him firmly.

Sam opened his mouth in protest, but Dean interrupted before he could get a word in.

“Damn it Sam, even if you made me human again, the Mark will just kill me again.  It’s not meant for humans Sam.  It would have forced me to keep killing and killing just to stay alive.  Human me didn't want that,” Dean told him angrily, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“ _Human_ you didn't?” Sam repeated, trying to take it all in.  Already his brain was trying to figure out how he could get rid of Dean’s Mark.  This didn't change anything.  He still had to save Dean – it just made the process more complicated.  He really hoped that Dean’s last comment hadn't meant that Dean would resist the cure.

“I have to kill.  I need to kill.  It’s worse than when I was a vampire.  I can’t resist for long.”  Dean said, realizing the he didn't even really care about who he killed anymore – human or monster didn't matter.  Dean tried to swallow, but his mouth felt too dry.  _Just what had become of him?_

“Then let’s find something to hunt,” Sam told him.  Dean stared at him incredulously.

“I’m a monster, Sam!  You should be hunting me, not trying to hunt with me!” Dean yelled.  He felt his anger rising.

“Well, he can’t kill you anyway,” Crowley chimed in.  Both Winchesters had completely forgotten that he was there.  “You being a Knight and all, can only be killed by the First Blade.  But you are the only one who can use the First Blade, and you can’t kill yourself with it either.  Welcome to immortality.”

He was trapped.  Trapped as a monster for all eternity.  Part of him had already suspected it, but it was worse to hear the words aloud.

“I would never hunt you Dean.  You’re my brother!” Sam said indignantly, as if Crowley hadn't even spoken.

“ _Now_ you want to be brothers?” Dean scoffed, all his anger from the past few months flooding back.  “Where were you when I needed you?”

“I know,” Sam said softly, his voice cracking a little.  “But that’s why I can’t turn my back on you now.  I can’t lose you.  Not again.  Please Dean.”

Dean dropped the Blade, and turned away from Sam’s puppy dog eyes.  He couldn't let his mind be clouded for this part.  It was too important.

“It’s not safe Sam.  I’m not safe.  I might lose control,” Dean told him.

“No you won’t hurt me,” Sam said without missing a beat.  “Demon or not, you clearly still care about me.  Your over-protectiveness is stronger than whatever the First Blade is doing to you.”

Dean gaped at him.  Sam could be so stubborn sometimes!  There was no reasoning with him when he got like this.

“No bitching about whatever I need to kill,” Dean growled at Sam with a glare.

“Whoa wait a moment squirrel,” Crowley interrupted.  “Whatever happened to us howling at that moon?”

“Sorry Crowley – Sammy and I are going hunting,” Dean told him flatly.  Without so much as a backwards glance, the two brothers left together.


	2. Way to Make it Work?

Crowley scowled as he returned to his plush corner office in Hell.  He’d been kicked to the curb – again – by the Winchesters – just after he helped them yet again.  Did none of the foxholes they’d been in together mean anything?  Moose had seemed more determined than ever to kill him after the moment they shared back at that church.  Squirrel had started to come around after he’d saved Sam and they started hunting together.  Part of him felt excited at Dean’s new demonhood.  Part of him mourned the loss of humanity inside his friend.  A friend that was never really his.  The Winchesters would always choose each other over anyone else.

_“I deserve to be loved!”_

The memory of his shameful confession was still seared into his mind, burning him more than any holy water ever could.  He’d kicked his human blood addiction.  He was clean.  So why did he still crave attachments?  Why couldn't he let go of the Winchesters?

Dean would probably call on him again sooner or later.  Undoubtedly.  Dean couldn't run from what he had become forever.  He would need the help of the one potential ally he would have in his new darker world.

In the meantime, Crowley contemplated reaching out to Gavin.  He was the only good thing to come of the fiasco with Abaddon.  Surely the Winchesters were too busy with their own issues to bother tracking him back to his son.  But with Dean’s newfound bloodlust, perhaps it wasn't worth the risk.  For now, Crowley was just left to rule his kingdom, alone.

 

___

 

Part of Castiel didn't really care if his Grace burned out, and himself along with it.  Dean was dead.  Did he really want to keep going in a world without Dean?  He couldn't even go visit Dean’s Heaven since all the souls were still trapped in the Veil until the angels figured out a way to rescue them.  Castiel didn't even want to think of the other alternative, that the Mark had somehow dragged Dean back to Hell.  Without his wings, Castiel didn't have any way to visit Hell or the Veil.

Castiel could almost hear Dean yelling at him inside his head about never giving up.  Dean would say that there was always a way.  Dean had always been right about that so far – why should he doubt his advice now?

He knew that Metatron probably knew the spell to give him his Grace back, but he wasn't about to ever trust Metatron again.

Truthfully, Castiel had had another idea about how to replenish his Grace for a long time, and now that he was back in Heaven, he had access to what he needed.  It would be very risky, but it was just the type of thing that Dean would do.

The journey would take a while without wings, and Castiel wanted to leave immediately.  He didn't want any more angels to ask him to lead them.  He had failed again to lead them, and he didn't owe them another try.  These were the same angels who had asked him to kill Dean just to prove his loyalty.  They had locked him and Gadreel up rather than face the truth about Metatron.  If only they had listened to him, if only they had _believed_ in him, Dean and Gadreel would still be alive.

“Cas?  I hope that you’re still alive, and that you can hear me.”  Cas winced at Sam’s prayer.  It had been bad enough hearing the news from Metatron, he didn't really want to hear it again from Sam.  But he couldn't turn his back on his friend, and held his breath (a habit he’d picked up as a human) waiting for Sam to continue.

“There is no easy way to say this, but Dean . . .” Sam’s voice faltered a little bit.  “The Mark did something to him after his fight with Metatron.  It – it turned him into a demon.”  Dean?  A demon?  The idea horrified him, but at the same time, it gave him a glimmer of hope – maybe that meant that Dean could still be reached.  Maybe he could still save Dean.

“I can’t cure him until we find a way to get rid of the Mark.  I've been secretly researching the Mark ever since Dean got it, but I've got bumpkis.  If there is anything else you know about the Mark, please call me as soon as you can.  I’m taking Dean hunting to try to focus his new bloodlust on a good purpose, but I don’t know how much I can really do.  If I push too hard, I could lose him.  The look in his eyes . . . . I know he doesn't want me to see, but he doesn't just need to kill – part of him wants to kill.  We have to find a way to save him Cas, we have to.”

Castiel’s journey to restore his Grace could wait long enough to go downstairs for a quick phone call.

 

___

 

“Anything close by?” Dean asked as he glanced over Sam’s shoulder at the laptop screen, trying to keep his voice even.  Despite Dean’s best efforts to appear calm, Sam could see how jittery he was getting.  Dean was hurting, and it was clearly taking an immense amount of will-power not to start randomly killing.

“I think I found signs of a vamp’s nest near Topeka,” Sam told him, trying not to think about the relief and small smile from Dean at his words.  With the exception of Benny, Dean had always enjoyed chopping of vamp’s heads.  This job wasn't going to be that different.

“Awesome!” Dean said.  “I’ll pack the bags, you erase the warding from the trunk and a . . . .”  Dean hesitated for a moment, struggling with something.  “Put this in a warded box and leave it here.”  He placed the First Bland on the table in front of Sam, prying his fingers from it with difficulty but determination.  “Maybe Cain had the right idea – keeping it far away might lessen the influence.  I don’t need it for the small fights anyway.”

Dean was surprised just how quickly Sam pulled out an iron box with warding already carved into it, just the right size for the Blade.  Sam must have been waiting for this opportunity.  Just what else was Sam plotting?

As Sam got to the garage to erase the devil’s trap in the trunk of the Impala, his phone rang.

“Cas?” Sam smiled in relief.

“Hi Sam.  Metatron is imprisoned.  He is an ordinary angel again.  I just wasn't fast enough,” Castiel told him.

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to Dean, Cas,” Sam said, knowing that the words wouldn't help.  Both of them blamed themselves for not being fast enough.  Neither of them had been able to save Dean from Metatron, or from the First Blade.  But all that guilt wasn't going to help save Dean now.

“I only know of two methods that could work.  The Mark can be transferred, back to Cain, or to another worthy recipient,” Castiel began.  “Or, in theory, since the archangel Lucifer was the one who gave Cain the Mark in the first place, another archangel might have the power to remove it – permanently.”

“But the only two living archangels are in the Cage, and neither of them would ever be willing to help Dean since he locked them up,” Sam said with a sigh.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Castiel stated.

“What do you mean, Cas?” Sam asked.

“I saw Gabriel recently.  I don’t know if he was just an illusion of Metatron’s, or if he really did fake his death like he claimed, or if Metatron resurrected him with the power of the angel tablet,” Castiel admitted.

“Wow,” Sam was not expecting that.  “So if we can track him down, maybe we can convince him to help us.”  Sam tried not to think about the six months he spent trying to track him down the last time he had looked, never finding him until Gabriel had wanted him to.  But he hadn't even known Gabriel’s true identity at the time – he knew a lot more about him now.  This time would be different.

“Good luck, Sam.  I’m afraid that I can’t be of much assistance until I replenish my Grace.  I have to go back to Heaven, and I will be out of contact for a while.  I will make further inquiries about the Mark while I’m gone.  I will let you know if I find anything,” Castiel told him.

“Thanks, Cas.  Good luck,” Sam replied.

“Oh, and Sam,” Castiel added.  “Tell Dean . . . .tell Dean that I’m sorry.  And remind him about how he says that there is always a way.”

“I will, thanks Cas,” Sam said, his voice cracking slightly.

 

___

 

“So Cas thinks Gabriel is still alive?” Dean asked, taking in the conversation that Sam had relayed to him.  The two brothers were back on the open road heading towards a job, almost like old times.  But they both knew that this wasn't like old times – this wasn't about “saving people” it was about trying to control the monster that Dean had become.

Dean tried to hide the irritability in his voice at the mention of Cas, tried not to let on how much it was nagging at him that Cas hadn't talked to him personally.  Why would Cas ever want to talk to a demon anyway?  He was an abomination.  He could scarcely believe that neither Sam nor Cas had abandoned him – yet, at least.  That was probably only because they both thought that he could still be saved.  If that didn't work . . . . Dean didn't want to think about how they would react.  They had once imprisoned Abaddon by shooting her with a devil’s trap bullet, then slicing her up and burying the pieces under concrete.  Would the same fate await him if he turned out to be incurable?

Leaving the First Blade behind had helped lessen his desperate bloodlust a little, but he also now no longer had the calm that the Blade gave him.  It was a trade off, but one that Dean was willing to make.  He was used to having to bury his emotions anyway.  Besides, the Impala and the open road had their own calming effects on him.

“Cas doesn't know for sure if Gabriel is alive or not, but it’s a lead,” Sam said, trying to sound confident.

“Alright – once we get to Topeka, you can play research boy while I clean out the vamp nest,” Dean replied.

“No – you are _not_ going into a vamp nest alone Dean!” Sam protested indignantly.

“They can’t kill me, Sam,” Dean replied bitterly, realizing after he said it that he should probably have tried to sound more reassuring.  After all, Sam still seemed to be in denial that Dean would be better off dead than the monster he’d become.  Sam might actually be better off too.

“That’s not the point!  They could still have devil’s traps, or holy water, or other things that you never used to be vulnerable to,” Sam protested as Dean rolled his eyes with exasperation.  “You might be immortal, but you aren't invulnerable, and there is a whole new set of rules that you have to adapt to!”  Dean scowled, and clenched his teeth to hold back a sharp retort.  He could take care of himself!

“Besides,” Sam continued in a quieter voice that made Dean glance over, catching sight of Sam’s wide moist eyes.  “I will always have your back, Dean!  Always.  I want us to be partners again.”  Dean sighed, but his scowl lessened.  He was torn between wanting to finally reconnect with Sam, and the fact that Sam was a lot more vulnerable than him now.  Dean already still felt like he alone was a danger to Sam, much less whatever other supernatural baddies they came across.  But he also knew that a vamp nest was hardly anything new to Sam.  If he didn't want to lose his brother, he needed to let him in on the small fights.

“So how is Cas going to get his Grace back?” Dean asked, shifting his eyes back to the open road.

“He didn't say,” Sam responded, accepting the change of subject and his unspoken victory.  “Any ideas on how we could hunt down Cain?”

“We won’t find Cain – not until he wants me to kill him with the Blade.  I doubt he’d want the Mark back anyway,” Dean told him.  His only hopes lay in either a demon who probably wouldn't help him, or in a probably-still-dead archangel that only might help him?  He didn't like his odds.

 

___

 

As much as Castiel wanted to rush to Dean’s side, or even just hear his voice o the phone he couldn't.  He didn't deserve to, not after he had failed Dean so completely.  It was his fault that Dean was a demon, no matter what Sam said otherwise.  Surely Dean would blame him for it.  After all, Dean apparently still held a strong grudge from when he’d gulped the souls of Purgatory.  Castiel had hoped that they had moved past that, even though he felt that he hadn't deserved it.  Once he had heard a hint of forgiveness from Dean on the topic, but that Dean was gone now.  This demonic Dean would surely have nothing but wrath for Castiel and his many mistakes.  He deserved as much.

But he couldn't help Dean if he let himself fall down the road of self-pity.  He couldn't help Dean unless he managed to get his Grace back, and he was running out of time before he burned out.

Castiel set off across Heaven by foot, heading for a place regarded with heavy taboos by all angels.  There was an artifact, not far from the Garden, that radiated power.  He had heard whispers about it.  Theoretically, if an angel were to get close enough to it, it would be possible to absorb some of that power.  But anyone who got too close burned away screaming in agony.  Still, that was a chance he would have to take if he wanted to be a full angel again.

Castiel walked quickly.  The Grace he had left wouldn't last much longer.

 

___

 

Dean cursed himself when he heard Sam’s stomach grumble very loudly.  As a demon, he no longer needed to eat, but Sam did.

“Your hungry – when was the last time you ate?” Dean demanded.  From the way Sam turned away and stared out the passenger side window towards the horizon, Dean got a nasty feeling that Sam hadn't eaten anything since before he died.  Not that they had eaten much that day either.

“Damn it Sam, if you want me to let you watch my back, you have to take care of yourself,” Dean told him as he pulled off at the next exit.

“It’s okay Dean – we are almost to Topeka.  I can eat after the vamp nest,” Sam started to protest, and Dean sighed.

“I’m not so desperate for a kill that we can’t make a short pit stop,” Dean told Sam, trying to be patient, but feeling guilty as hell.  It was all his fault they were in this mess to begin with, and now Sam was already hurting himself to try to accommodate him.

On the way into the diner, Dean squashed a beetle on the sidewalk when Sam wasn't looking.  It didn't take much of the edge off.  He took a deep breath.  Sam needed this, and it wasn't much of a delay.  A vamp’s nest would mean lots of kills.

He followed Sam into the diner.  Sam raised his eyebrows when Dean started to read the menu too.

“I can still eat, even if I don’t need too.  Maybe the normalcy will do us some good,” Dean said with a sigh.  “But all the good stuff is bound to be laced with salt.”

“Ruby used to love French fries, so low quantities might be okay,” Sam offered timidly.  Dean tried to repress his shudder at the mention of Ruby, but was grateful for the information.  Maybe he could risk a burger after all.

 

___

 

“How is it?” Sam asked as Dean bit into his bacon double cheeseburger with extra onions.  Dean’s look of ecstasy answered for him.

“Awesome,” Dean breathed once he swallowed.  “Thank _God_ food tastes about the same.  The salt burns a little, but in a good way.”  He continued to devour the burger with a hunger his body didn't feel.  On a whim, he had tried ordering the burger rare, and the traces of blood in the barely cooked meat seemed to help him more than squashing that beetle did.

Sam smiled.  Even more than needing his first meal in days, he needed to see Dean this happy and temporarily forgetting all their problems.  Maybe they really could be okay.


	3. Couldn't Be That Easy

It was surprisingly easy to find the vampires.  The nest had about a dozen vamps in it, but none that put up much of a fight – at least not to hunters as experienced as the Winchesters.  Despite Sam’s fears, there hadn't been any devil’s traps.  Dean initially underestimated his new strength.  On his first kill he not only sliced through the vamp’s neck, but also through the wall next to her.  He dialed it down a little after that, and realized that he could fling the vampires around the room with a thought.  It wasn't really that different from the one time he had willed the First Blade to move.  Sam mostly hung back and watched Dean’s back, but if any vampires got close, he disabled them, leaving them for Dean to kill.

“You don’t need to do that,” Dean told Sam as he finished off the last of the disabled vamps.  “Not that I don’t appreciate the extra kills – just don’t take any unnecessary risks to avoid killing things on my account.”  He really was going to need to keep a close eye on Sam.

Dean’s mood was considerably lighter at dinner, despite having no luck scoring any pie.  Sam was also visibly more relaxed.

Dean insisted that they check into a motel, rather than just drive back to the bunker, so that Sam could get some real sleep.  Dean didn't bother pretending to sleep when he knew he couldn't.  He thought that watching Sam sleep would probably creep his brother out, but he started to see where Cas was coming from on this.  Sam looked so peaceful, so human . . . everything Dean no longer was. 

He spent a few hours researching before he found a new hunt.  Then he discovered that he could still enjoy his Busty Asian Beauties.  It made sense that demons could still lust.  Maybe this demon thing wouldn't be so bad.  He could keep it together so long as he had a focus.  There would always be something to hunt.  He let Sam sleep longer than Sam normally did – the poor guy was probably a lot more worn out than he let on.

“So there have been five missing college students in Cedar Rapids, Iowa in the last week.  All of them were last seen just before midnight, but on different days in different parts of campus.  Some eye witnesses claimed to have blinked and their friends were gone,” Dean told Sam after he woke up.  “Interested in checking it out?”

 

___

 

Three nights later, Dean was starting to feel like he had been too optimistic about his ability to handle this.  An easy-to-find nest with a dozen kills was one thing, but a normal hunt often took a few days and only resulted in one kill.  The Mark ached with longing for more.  He’d have to do some kills without Sam or he’d go crazy.

Dean finished the bottle of whiskey with a sigh.  His human-self had built up so much of a tolerance that he had had to drink a lot to feel anything.  Since his transformation, he had realized with dismay that no matter how much he drank, alcohol had no effect on him whatsoever.  He wasn't sure why he bothered anymore – perhaps more out of habit than anything.  That, and the taste, just like the taste of food, gave him some small comfort of a tactile connection to his old life.  Giving it up would mean facing what he had become.  The middle of the night was always the worst.  With Sam asleep, there was nobody he needed to put on his game face for.  The reality of just how alone and hopeless he was threatened to overwhelm him, and alcohol could no longer take the edge off of that.

Dean paced the room while Sam slept, trying to decide on a solo target.  He was tempted to start cleaning out Chicago, but Sam would be pissed if he accidentally started a war between the monster factions there.  Dean tried not to register the fact that he didn't really care who got caught in the crossfires.  It mattered to Sam, and that was good enough for him.  So who wouldn't Sam care too much about, that wouldn't take too much work to track down and prove guilty?  Too bad there wasn't some sort of monster prison he could clean out . . . . but there were human prisons.  Perhaps he could gank one death-row inmate a night.  With his new teleportation, he could be back before Sam would even miss him.

 

___

 

Castiel could feel the pulse of energy inundating his entire being.  It was faint at first, but he could tell he was getting closer with every step.  He had never dared get this close to the artifact before – few angels had.  The energy felt both loving and terrifying at the same time.

Castiel strode forward until the pulsing was almost painful.  The blinding white light was so bright that he had to squeeze his eyes closed.  He paused momentarily.  Just how close should he get?  He started slowly inching forward, pausing after each step to try to monitor how the energy was affecting him.  He couldn't help Dean if he let himself get accidentally killed by this thing.  He struggled to be patient with the process, not wanting Dean to have to suffer any longer on his account than he could help.

Slowly, he noticed that his Grace was starting to resonate with the energy.  It was faint at first, but it increased with every step forward that he took.  Was it working?  Could it heal his Grace?  Maybe.  Even if it could, it would take a lot of time at this rate.  But he didn't have the luxury of time to experiment with this.  Dean needed him.  The effects would be stronger the closer he got, but so would the risks.

Castiel stepped forward.

 

___

 

Dean growled in frustration.  Researching a candidate for his solo hunt had only taken a few minutes – some serial killer was scheduled to die in Texas next week.

Teleportation, on the other hand, was proving a lot more difficult.  Dean had just spent the last half hour with his eyes closed, trying to will himself to the prison.  His many memories of all the times he had traveled with Angel Air were fresh on his mind.  Would this really be so different?  Once he had finally felt himself move, he had almost fist-pumped in celebration . . . . until he realized that he had absolutely no idea where he was.  He was somewhere in the countryside, probably still in the Western Hemisphere because it was still night, and the climate seemed temperate, so maybe he was still in the United States.  Other than that, there weren't enough signs of people to help him get his bearings.

Sam would freak if he didn't figure out a way to get back to the motel by morning.  He hadn't bothered with a note or anything.  He had his cell phone, but the last thing he wanted to do was admit that he’d been trying out his freaky demon powers.  After all the grief that he’d given Sam about using his powers years ago, Sam would probably yell at him for being a hypocrite, and he’d lose more of what little trust (if any) his brother still had for him.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Dean tried once again to aim for the prison.  It was still hours before Sam would get up.  He could figure this out before then.  Even if he was still a little late, he could always claim that he was out researching their current case, and had just lost track of the time.

He focused on the feeling he had just had when he had teleported for the first time.  The second jump didn't take as long for him to make happen, but he clearly didn't yet have the hang of aiming for a destination.  He was surrounded by warehouses.  Fortunately, the area was pretty deserted at this time of night.  The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself.  At least he had had the foresight to wear a ski-mask for the security cameras the prison would unavoidably have.

He teleported a few more times rapidly, trying to focus on just getting used to the feeling and process.  Then, he tried again to aim for the prison.  This time he was successful.  He couldn't help a small grin.

He quickly found his target within the prison.  The man looked peaceful, and almost smug while he slept.  No outward signs of a guilty conscience.  Thinking about the string of victims tied to this man, Dean felt his rage boil over him.  He had just been planning to quickly stab the guy and then leave, but now he wanted more.  He wanted to enjoy this.

 

___

 

There was a lot of unrest amongst the angels in heaven.  They were finally home, but still wingless, and more importantly, without a direction or purpose.  Ever since the apocalypse, every time they had tried to unite under a leader (or at least, leaders of different factions) it had ended badly.  But it was the only way that they knew.  Michael was gone.  Raphael was gone.  Naomi was gone.  Metatron was in prison.  Now Castiel had disappeared again without a word.

Just who did Castiel think he was?  He had repeatedly altered the course of heaven, uniting his fellow angels under fear or hope.  Then he kept abandoning them, often worse off than before he had meddled.  This disappearing act of his was getting old.  He couldn't be relied on or trusted. 

Some of Castiel’s last reported words were that he “just wanted to be an angel again.”  What kind of angel kept abandoning his own kind?  What kind of angel spent most of his time looking after his pet humans?  It didn't seem like Castiel could make up his mind whether he wanted to lead the angels, or turn his back on them forever.  At the very least, it didn't seem like they were where his true loyalties were.  Had Metatron been right – that everything Castiel had done really just been about protecting his puny human?  At least he was dead now, and right now Castiel didn't have enough power to bring him back again.  Some of the angels had hoped that this would mean that Castiel would refocus his attention back on heaven where it belonged.  However, based on Castiel’s latest disappearance, it appeared that that would not be the case.


	4. Busted

The third time that Dean snuck out in the middle of the night, he had a surprise waiting for him at his destination.

“Hi Squirrel.  Having fun, are we?”  Crowley greeted him.

Dean tensed.  He really didn't want to answer that.

“If it is kills you want, I can supply you with all you could ask for.  Of course, it would get easier for you if you would stop pretending that you still care about who you kill.  The Mark doesn't discriminate.  Neither do any other demons,” Crowley told him with a small smirk.  Dean seemed too new to this to have the same control over his bloodlust that Cain had had when they met him.  Crowley could use that to his advantage.

“I’m a hunter.  I only kill things that deserve it,” Dean insisted, trying to sound more confident than he felt.  He was tail-spinning and he knew it.  From the look on Crowley’s face, Dean was sure that he could sense it too.

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?  Even before you ever touched the First Blade, you knifed countless meatsuits.  Have you never stopped to think about how many humans you've personally cut down?  Are you really so different now?  I think that the Mark is just forcing you to see the truth about what you already were,” Crowley said.

Dean vanished, all thoughts of his intended kill forgotten.  Crowley smirked.  Clearly he had hit a nerve.  Let Dean stew over that a few days.  The look on Dean’s face had said that he was believing every word that he said.  It was almost too easy.  Part of Dean had already been broken before Crowley had ever met him, but now he was barely holding the pieces together.

 

___

 

“So, an idea came to me in my sleep last night,” Sam told Dean over breakfast the next morning.  “Since I haven’t been able to find any signs of Gabriel, he’s probably pretty deep underground.  But maybe somebody who knows him could point us in the right direction.”

“What, like another angel?  He hasn't exactly been chummy with the family the past few millennia,” Dean said skeptically.  Even though Sam sometimes woke up with great ideas on the tip of his tongue, he wasn't about to get his hopes up yet this time.

“No, I was remembering how far he was willing to go for that Indian goddess – Kali.  Do you really think that he would stay away from her if he was still alive?” Sam replied with a sly smile.  Dean smirked.

“So we summon Kali, and make her give us Gabriel,” Dean said.  He had to hand it to Sam – this could actually work.  If Gabriel was alive, that is.

“She is one of the most powerful goddesses, and still very strong because she is still widely worshiped in India.  We could really use some of the books back at the bunker to prep for this,” Sam continued.  Dean nodded.

“We could be back by tomorrow night if we start dri . . .” Dean began.

“OR, you could just teleport us back,” Sam interrupted.

Dean swallowed.  Sam knew.  There was no mistaking that gleam in his eyes, that rage boiling just below the surface.  Dean thought that he had been so careful.  Sam had always been sound asleep every time he left and returned.

“I haven’t been killing innocent people,” Dean tried to defend himself half-heartedly.

“Right.  You once had us thrown in prison because you thought that the inmates didn't deserve to die,” Sam snapped back bitterly.

“I cleared my internet history!  How did you . . ?” Realization hit Dean.  The way that Sam was averting his eyes confirmed it.  “You put spyware on the laptop?”

“If you’d just trust me, I wouldn't have to!” Sam snapped back angrily.  His outburst drew the attention of several other people in the restaurant.  Both brothers lapsed into silent fuming until the looky-loos lost interest.

“Dean,” Sam began again in his best ‘I’m trying to be patient with you and not throttle you’ tone of voice.  He was back to working his puppy dog eyes overtime.  “You once said that we keep each other human.  You were my conscience when I lost my soul.  Now it is my turn to be yours.  But I can’t help you unless you _let me in_.”

Dean sighed.  How could Sam help keep him human when he was no longer human?  Dean had ultimately failed to play conscience to a soulless Sam, and Bobby had nearly paid the price.  How could Sam expect to do any better now?

Regardless, Sam knew that he had killed two humans.  Somehow, Sam was still here.  Dean was proving himself to be a monster, no different from the ones that they hunted, and Sam was still right by his side.  Part of Dean felt grateful, but he also worried about dragging his brother down with him.

“You didn't kill the guy last night,” Sam said softly, like he understood all the thoughts that just went through Dean’s head.

“Yeah, well,” Dean began, turning his head to avoid meeting Sam’s eyes.  “That wasn't really . . . “ Dean stiffened suddenly.  “We've got company.”

Two demons were waiting for them, just outside the restaurant.  Dean knew that Sam couldn't see their true faces, but his eyes followed Dean’s gaze as he automatically placed his hand on the hilt of Ruby’s knife under his jacket.

Breakfast forgotten, the two hunters put some money on the table and headed outside.  The two demons smiled eagerly at Dean as they approached, casting nervous glances at Sam.

“Crowley said that you’d want to see us,” one of them told Dean breathlessly.  They were a couple of greenhorn low-level demons, practically gift wrapped for him as easy kills.  How thoughtful of Crowley.  He felt excitement at the thought of killing the two demons in front of him, then shook his head to try to clear his head.  After the conversation he had just had with Sam, this was the last thing he needed to further cloud his feelings.  He didn't even need to look over at his “conscience” to know what he had to do.

“You can take a message back to Crowley.  Tell him that he can go fuck himself,” Dean said with difficulty.  “Exorcizamus . . .” Dean choked on his own words, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with pain, his vision swimming around him.  He cursed himself for momentarily forgetting that the exorcism would hurt him too.  Dean felt Sam crouch beside him, placing a hand on his back and saying something Dean didn't quite make out.  Dean realized that he must have fallen onto his knees. 

As his eyes started to come back into focus, he glanced up at the two demons.  They were staring at him with a mixture of shock, hurt, and betrayal.  They didn't seem to have been as affected by his one word of Latin as he had been.  What was up with that?  Usually demons just snarled or hissed at the first word, or maybe convulsed.  He’d never seen one brought down to their knees so easily.  Was it because he himself had said it?  Was it a manifestation of the internal war he was fighting with himself?  Probably only a hunter mind trapped in a demon body would be stupid enough to try to say an exorcism.

“Yur gunna hav ta do it, S'mmy,” Dean said, slurring his words slightly.  Could he manage to teleport a safe distance away?

Luckily, he didn't have to.  In unison, the two demons opened their mouths wide, spewing black smoke into the air.

 

___

 

Squirrel had such a stubborn streak.  It hadn't helped that the two incompetent fools had been stupid enough to approach Dean while he had been with Sam.  Sam seemed to have a calming influence on the monster inside Dean, and Crowley didn't like it.  Not one bit.

Crowley tortured the two demons who had brought him the bad news for a little bit.  Unfortunately it did nothing to improve his mood.  It hadn't helped that they were such masochists that they had started to enjoy it.  He sent them away with a scowl.

Sure, he was the undisputed King of Hell once again.  Back when he had been at the top of his game, this had been all that he had ever wanted.  He was good at it too.  But Hell just didn't feel the same anymore.  He couldn't find the satisfaction that he used to.  Maybe he needed a small break, a change of scenery.  He could go corrupt some mortals, get back to his roots.  That was always fun.


	5. Quests

Sam knelt down as he lit the candle, then stepped back next to Dean.  The brothers were back in the Bunker, and had spent the last few hours researching and preparing to summon Kali.  Dean had recovered from his attempted exorcism very quickly, and they had packed up the Impala and checked out of the motel with an uneasy silence.  Without a word, Dean had then successfully teleported both of them and the Impala back to the Bunker.  Getting teleported by Dean had felt a lot like getting teleported by Cas.  Dean had seemed embarrassed by his new teleportation ability for some reason, and it baffled Sam.  All demons could teleport – why would Dean try to hide something that he would now so obviously be able to do?  Dean had been brooding and moody while Sam had researched, taking instructions from him with only a few grunts in response.  It worried Sam.

Sam read the invocation, and a flash of red light and smoke filled the center of the room.  As the smoke dissipated, he could see Kali’s elegant form.  She lifted her head high and tried to glare down at the taller humans like they were beneath her.

“You dare to summon me?” she said with disgust.

“We just need some information.  We need your help to find Gabriel.  Do you know if he is still alive?  Did he fake his death?” Sam asked her, not fazed by her behavior.

“Now why would I help you?” Kali mocked.

“We saved your life!” Sam snapped indignantly.

“And I let you live,” Kali replied evenly.  Sam fumed.

“He is asking you nicely,” Dean cut in, letting his comment hang with an implied threat.  Kali’s eyes turned to him, and a small smile that she couldn't quite hide appeared on her lips.

“Well, I won’t give you charity, but I’ll give you Gabriel if you do something for me,” Kali said slyly.

“What?” Sam asked quickly.  Kali scowled at him.

“Not you, you can’t help me you mud monkey.  Him.  He’s the demon,” Kali replied.  Dean twitched at the reminder.  Sam’s lips pressed into a hard line, and his brows furrowed.  Having Dean do something with his new demon side was not part of the plan.  He was tempted to call it off, but she had said “give you Gabriel” which implied that he was alive and reachable.  They would have a hard time finding another lead this good.

“What do you want?” Dean asked, slightly hesitant.

“A demon stole my sword a few decades ago.  It is rumored to be kept in your hell.  Celestial red tape being what it is, I can’t go there.  Retrieve it for me,” Kali told him.

“Your hell?” Sam questioned.

“Do you really think that your hell is the only hell?” Kali scoffed at him.

“Alright,” Dean cut in.  “I get this sword of yours, and you give us Gabriel?”  Kali nodded and smirked back at him.

“Don’t get too excited – I’m not going to seal this deal in your demonic way.  But you return my sword to me, and Gabriel is all yours,” Kali told him.

“One sword, coming right up,” Dean told her.  Sam realized that Dean was going to leave him behind and opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was gone before he could.

“Damn it Dean!” Sam shouted.

 

___

 

It was working.  Castiel felt his Grace grow and heal from the energy from the artifact.  It still didn't feel like “his” Grace, but he had begun to doubt that he’d ever feel the warmth of his own Grace within him again.  His own Grace had probably been destroyed from being used in Metatron’s spell to cast the angels from Heaven.  Castiel tried not to think about how incomplete he felt without it.  The stolen Grace had never been the same, but at least now it was recharged.  This Grace was as strong now as it had been when he stole it from Theo, and he got the feeling that this was all the power he would be able to absorb here.  It wasn't a permanent solution – he just bought himself a few more months before he would have to return here or burn out – but it would have to do for now.  Besides, he had wasted enough time here.  He needed to hurry back to Dean and try to help him in any way that he could.  Castiel backed away carefully from the artifact, then turned away and started his trek across Heaven back to the portal to Earth.

 

___

 

Dean was somewhere that he had never wanted to be again.  Hell.  A few demons that he had meet had seemed to like Hell.  But, if any part of him had hoped that it would be easier for him to return to Hell now that he was a demon, those hopes were soon dashed.  Hell was exactly the way that he remembered it from the forty years he had been imprisoned, tortured, and forced to torture here.  Hell was exactly the way it had haunted his dreams each and every night since Castiel had resurrected him.  The stench alone sent him reeling, full of sulfur, smoke, blood, decay, and other nasty things he didn't even want to think about.  Then there was the constant symphony of screams and sobs.  The only comfort he had was the knowledge that Alastair was long dead.

Trying to shake himself from his memories, Dean pulled himself together and set off down the corridor.  He didn't know where to start looking for this stupid sword, but Crowley probably would have some ideas.  He wasn't sure where Crowley’s office would be – he hadn't exactly had free roaming privileges last time he’d been in Hell.  He didn't know much about the lay of the land.

Three demons eyed him cautiously as he approached them, hands automatically clutching their knives.

“Where is Crowley?” Dean demanded, throat feeling raw from the smoke.

“That’s King Crowley to you, you filthy magg…” one of the demons sneered.  Dean removed his head before he could finish his insult.  The other two demons standing with him hadn't even had a chance to blink.  The blood from the first demon still dripping on his knife, Dean turned to the other demons and gave them a look.  They instantly got it – cooperate with him or he would send their heads rolling too without breaking a sweat.  They were no match for him.  One of the demons instantly started babbling directions to Crowley’s office at top speed.

Dean smirked as he continued on his way.  That had been too easy.  He must be a lot more intimidating now.  He had never seen a demon crack so easily, but he could tell that it hadn't been lying.  Or perhaps it just figured that Crowley could handle himself against a scary newcomer.

 

___

 

“One does not simply walk into the King’s off…” came the voice of one of Crowley’s guards, followed by the sound of a swoosh, then a thud.  The door to Crowley’s office opened, and Dean stepped inside.

“Dean!  Good to see you,” Crowley beamed.  “I told the bastards to let you right on in when you arrived, but do they listen?”  That was a lie of course.  Once he had gotten wind that Dean had finally come down to his kingdom, he had purposely put a stupid and disposable guard right by his door.  If Dean wouldn't accept gifts from him, then he’d just have to be a bit sneakier about it.  At least until he got Dean to embrace what he’d become.  He was coming around.  Crowley had expected another summoning when Dean decided he wanted to talk, but this was much better.  The fact that Dean had willingly stepped foot back in Hell could only be a good sign.

Dean’s eyes slid away from Crowley, and onto the giant form of the snoring hell hound in the corner.  Juliette’s mouth and front paws were still stained, and a bit moist, from the blood of her last victim a few hours ago.  Crowley had thought that, from how the Winchester’s had brutally murdered his last pet, that perhaps Dean had gotten past the one time he had been ripped to shreds by a hell hound.  But, judging by the subtitle signs of Dean’s increased tension and slight twitch since he had spotted Juliette, that must be just another of the many memories that Dean tried to squander.

“Juliette won’t hurt you.  She only goes after the souls on my list, and I did enough work 10 years ago to keep her very well-fed,” Crowley told him.  “You’d be great at the business of signing up souls, if you ever wanted to try your hand at it.”  He didn't expect Dean to be interested now, but it didn't hurt to plant the seed.  With Dean’s smooth people skills and charming smile, he had no doubt that Dean had the potential to be one of the best in the business.  Dean scowled and gave Crowley a vicious glare.

“I need some information about the sword of Kali.  Rumor has it that it is in Hell,” Dean said pointedly, trying to ignore the sleeping Juliette and Crowley’s remarks.

“Kali’s sword?  Ah, well I might have heard a whisper a few decade’s back,” Crowley began.  “A lot of the big names that were involved at the time have since been killed, often by you – Azazel, Alastair, and so forth.  Some of the lesser demons involved might still be around for you to interrogate though.  I’ll make you a list.”

“And why would Azazel and Alastair care about Kali’s sword?” Dean asked.

“To weaken potential threats to Lucifer when he rose, of course.  You didn't think it was strange how a bunch of gods weren't much of a threat to an archangel?  They were systematically weakened for centuries in preparation for Lucifer and the apocalypse,” Crowley told him with slight exasperation.  Really, it surprised him some of the connections the boys never made.  At full power, Kali could have been a very real threat to Lucifer.

Crowley finished writing the list of names, and handed the paper to Dean.  Then he stepped over to a cabinet, and opened up a drawer to reveal an array of shiny metal blades.

“Would you like any of your old tools?” Crowley offered.  Dean was clearly caught unprepared, and didn't hide his reaction so well this time.  A violent tremor passed through Dean and he looked like he was going to be sick.  But Crowley also caught the slight glimmer of yearning in Dean’s eyes.  That was the glimmer he had to nurture.  But even without his old torture tools, just getting back to torture would probably reawaken all kinds of old feelings in him.  After all, the last time Dean had been in Hell he had come to relish the torture.  Crowley had thoroughly researched Dean’s last time in Hell, and was very prepared with ways to tempt him.

“I’m good,” Dean said stiffly, regaining his composure and holding up the blade that he had brought with him.  Dean hurried out the door towards his first victim.  Crowley smirked.


	6. Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the wonderful comments/bookmarks/subscribes/kudos. You guys are awesome!

Demons were often a stubborn bunch, unwilling to divulge state secrets easily.  Even just finding the demons on Crowley’s list was proving to take a few hours apiece.  Hell didn't have any internet, credit card trails, phones with GPS, or many of the other methods Dean was used to using to find his targets.  He was stuck doing things the old fashioned way, talking to one demon at a time.  It felt painstakingly slow, and he had been surprised at how much demon loyalty he came across.  He would have expected demons to sell each other out pretty quickly, especially when threatened.  But generally he only found out information on the names on the list after he tortured the demons he came across for a while.

He supposed that part of the problem was that he was Dean Winchester – deeply hated enemy of demons everywhere.  Nobody but Crowley even wanted to be seen around him.  A few had outright attacked him, but none of them had stood a chance.

Crowley could have made the whole process faster if he had come along and just ordered the demons to talk.  But Crowley hadn't offered, and the last thing Dean wanted was to be in Crowley’s debt.  Crowley had already parted with that list of names too easily.  Part of him had been suspicious, but so far Crowley’s information seemed good.  The names on the list did indeed seem to all be connected to Kali’s Sword.

Getting those demons to tell him the sword’s location, on the other hand, was a more difficult matter.  Once he finally found his targets, they were even more difficult to crack than the other demons that he had interrogated along the way.

Telekinesis was really handy.  Dean no longer needed devil’s traps or any kind of physical restraints during his sessions.  He could hold the demons in a vice-like grip, using only his mind.  He wondered how Sam had used his abilities to exorcise, torture, and kill demons all with his mind.  Dean didn't seem to be able to do more than just hold them in place while he worked them over with his knife.  Surely he was powerful enough to just torture with his mind?  But he couldn't seem to get that to work.  Part of him wanted to ask Sam about it later, but he doubted that Sam would want to talk about it.

Dean remembered the haunting red light that had come from Cain’s house when Cain had locked dozens of demons in there with him.  It had almost seemed like a twisted version of the light that angels used to smite demons.  Could Dean do that now, kill demons with a touch of his hand?  He tried the technique on a few low level demons, placing his hand on their forehead and trying to push the killing energy into them.  They all screamed in anguish as they burned away.  Dean smirked.  One more useful ability.

Finally, one of the demons admitted to personally placing Kali’s sword in a massive vault where they had been collecting many different weapons from various gods and other powerful beings.  Dean didn't like the sound of that.  Nobody in Hell should have access to that much power.  He needed to find Kali’s sword, and anything else that should never have fallen into the hands of demons.

Suddenly, Dean felt a strange trembling.  It seemed to be localized – concentrated on him.

 

___

 

Dean blinked in surprise, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the change in lighting.  He was back in the bunker, with Sam standing before him.

“You – you summoned me?” Dean sputtered in shock.

“You left me behind,” Sam snapped.  “Take me with you to find Kali’s sword.”  Dean noticed that Sam was still wearing the same clothes that he had the last time he’d seen him, and didn't have any new bags under his eyes.  Realization dawned on him – time was different in Hell.  What had been days for Dean couldn't have been more than a few hours for Sam.

“Hell is no place for humans, Sam,” Dean snapped back.  He tried to teleport back, but realized that he was in a devil’s trap.  Sam had trapped his own brother.  This was crossing a line.  Anger welled up inside him.  This is what he got for trying to keep Sam safe and out of harm’s way?

“I've been to Hell before – alive even,” Sam reminded him, and Dean knew he was referring to the time when he had rescued Bobby’s soul.  Dean hadn't wanted him to go then either, but had been overruled.  But this wasn't some stealth rescue mission – there had been a lot of blood already on this mission, and he didn't want any of it to be Sam’s.

“Every demon down there is gunning for me.  Now they can’t hurt me, but they could kill you Sam.  Kill you.  It’s not worth the risk – you are too vulnerable.  So let me go,” Dean told him, hoping that Sam would see reason.  His job was difficult enough without having to watch out for Sam too.  Based on what he had deduced about this vault where the sword was, it was probably going to be dangerous too.

“No,” Sam said firmly.  “We’re partners – I’m going with you.”  Dean glared at him.  Every part of him wanted to yell at Sam and/or knock him out.

“No, I’m not taking you to Hell, Sammy,” Dean told him.  “I’m not letting you die.”

“I fight demons all the time, Dean!  I can take care of myself!” Sam scoffed.  “But if other demons are gunning for you, then you need me to watch your back!”

“They can’t kill me, Sammy,” Dean reminded him.  “But if you are that worried, then I’ll get Crowley to watch my back, okay?”  These words seemed to have the opposite effect that Dean had intended.  If anything, it made Sam even angrier.

“Crowley isn't your partner – _I AM_!” Sam all but screamed.  Dean was startled.  Was Sam jealous of Crowley?  For a moment he was speechless.

“You are my brother.  You will always be my partner, Sammy,” Dean told him softly, hoping to calm Sam down a bit.  “I’d choose you over Crowley any day.  But this isn't the time for this, Sam.  This isn't your fight.”

“Like _HELL_ it isn't!” Sam retorted.  Dean raised his hand to cut Sam off.

“Kali’s sword is in a big vault with who-knows-how-many other stolen magical artifacts from gods and other creatures.  It could be guarded by demons wielding some of those weapons for all I know.  It’s not safe for you,” Dean told him, trying to be patient.

“I've never been safe Dean, but only recently have you used that as an excuse to push me away,” Sam snapped back.  “We've faced gods before, we can do it again.”

“Come on, Sam!  Be reasonable.  As strong as you are, you are still a human.  And humans . . .” Dean  said.

“Being a human never stopped you.  Even when I was more powerful than you, you would never have considered staying behind.  Why do you think I’d be any different?” Sam reminded him.  Part of Dean knew that he was right.  Neither of them had ever shied away from a fight because of danger.  Sam hadn't changed – he had.  But he also knew that Sam just couldn't fathom how much weaker he looked through demon eyes.  All his big brother protective instincts were getting amped up by how incredibly fragile Sam seemed right now.  Becoming a powerful immortal demon changes one’s perspective.  But he knew that this line of argument was not getting him anywhere.

“Sorry, Sam.  I get what you are saying, but there is still no way that I’m taking you to Hell,” Dean told him firmly.

“Then I guess you’re not leaving that devil’s trap,” Sam snapped back with ice in his voice.

The brothers glared at each other in fury.  They had reached an impasse.  Dean wondered just how long Sam was willing to lock him up down here.  Dean would probably drive himself crazy inside a week.  He had never been good at sitting around doing nothing.  And how would that help either of them?  The only lead they had to curing Dean was back in Hell.  But Dean would rather be stuck as a demon forever than watch Sam die again.

Something in the back of his mind protested the idea he came up with.  It was crying out to him that if he ever managed to become human again then he would come to regret this.  Dean shoved the thought away.  If he didn't get out of his current fix, then he would never be human again anyway.

Dean pulled out his knife, and made a cut across his forearm.  Sam blinked at him in bewilderment.

“If you want to come to Hell with me, then you’re going to have to drink up,” Dean told him.

Sam reacted as expected.  Sam immediately paled, and backed up into the door, eyes wide with shock and horror.  He stared at Dean like he almost didn't recognize him.

“Y- you once . . . rather watch me die . . . give me demon blood . . . be a monster,” Sam stumbled to find the words, but Dean remembered all too well.  Dean remembered Bobby yelling at him that he was killing Sam by making him detox cold-turkey.  He remembered feeling like he had finally found a line that he wasn't willing to cross.  Until now, that is.  Sam could come back from a dose of demon blood, but just how many more resurrections would they get?  The last time Sam had nearly died, he’d asked Death to make sure that he could never be resurrected again.  The idea had scared Dean so badly that he had never questioned allowing Gadreel to possess Sam after that.  What if Death put Sam somewhere where Dean couldn't follow?  What if he had to face an eternity without Sam?  What if Sam ended up someplace horrible, completely alone where nobody could ever save him?  He couldn't take the chance of not being able to save Sam next time.  He couldn't.

“I know.  I guess finally having my own powers changes my perspective,” Dean told him.  It was a true statement, even if it wasn't the real reason why he was doing this.  The idea of Sam getting back on demon blood still made him cringe, but at least it would make Sam powerful enough that Dean wouldn't have to be as worried about him.

Sam just continued to stare at him, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.  They stared at each other for a few minutes, hardly breathing.  Then without a word, Sam turned around and left.


	7. Between Scylla and Charybdis

Sam sat alone, with only one lamp and a bottle of whiskey to keep him company.  Usually Sam was better than Dean about keeping his drinking under control, but once in a while he lost it.  He felt so lost and alone.  He didn't know what to do.

Every time Dean died, less of him came back.  This time, Dean hadn't even come back human.  Sam had been trying to keep it together, for Dean’s sake.  He knew that Dean was completely freaked out, but as usual, was burying his feelings.  Dean never seemed to learn that that technique always backfired.  But the truth was that Sam wasn't handling things very well either.  He was taking a page out of Dean’s book, and trying to put on a brave face for his brother, while burying his own emotions.

Dean as a demon didn't make Sam worry for his own safety.  He couldn't imagine any version of Dean ever hurting him.  This feeling had been further proven by how Dean’s “watch out for Sammy” instincts seemed completely intact.  Almost too much so.  If anything, they seemed almost stronger than before, if that was even possible.  Dean had been less and less willing to let Sam do anything ever since he had gotten the Mark.  What’s more, Dean had become worse than ever at letting Sam reciprocate, and protect Dean when he needed it.  Sam didn't know if he could have been any use in the fight against Metatron, but even a few minutes time might have made the difference in whether Dean got stabbed before Cas broke the angel tablet.  But Sam had failed to protect his brother when he’d needed it most.  Again.

Dean as a demon terrified Sam for what it was doing to Dean.  Dean might not talk much about his struggles, but it was written all over his face, since Sam knew what to look for.  Dean had also been reluctant to accept Sam’s help, whether for pride, or for worries about corrupting Sam.  Regardless, Sam couldn't let Dean face this alone.  He knew that getting turned into a demon – the very thing that he hated most – was Dean’s worst nightmare.  Dean had been secretly terrified of the possibility ever since he sold his soul.  All those repressed emotions, combined with how the First Blade had transformed Dean, had to be completely overwhelming.  It was almost amazing that Dean could still function at all.

Sam knew the feeling.  He remembered his own struggles against demonic influences all too well.

His addition to demon blood, and the things that he did with it, was still his greatest failure.  Sure, his grief and guilt of Dean dying for his sake was what had led him to trust Ruby in the first place.  But even after Dean was rescued from Hell, Sam hadn't stopped.  He hadn't let go of his obsession for revenge, or his self-righteous belief that he alone could stop the apocalypse.

Sam was still haunted by the way that Dean had looked at him when he had discovered that Sam was drinking demon blood.  He could never forget the lengths that Dean went to in order to keep him from drinking more demon blood.  Dean had nearly killed him.  Perhaps he would have died had he not mysteriously been freed from the panic room.  It might have been better if he had.  It had taken a long time for Dean to learn to trust him again.  But he knew that Dean had never completely forgiven him for it.

How could Dean possibly offer him blood now?  It went completely against everything that Dean had ever believed in.  Sam knew that the Mark had changed Dean, but this?  This had felt like such a fundamental and unchangeable part of his brother.

Dean had claimed that it was just a new perspective since he now had powers of his own.  Sam wasn't quite sure he bought that.  During Dean’s brief time as a vampire, he had had super strength and enhanced senses, and none of that had had any lasting effect on Dean’s views, if any effect at all.

Although, he had to admit that it wasn't the first time Dean had done a 180 flip on a topic.  Dean had been downright mean to people who had sold their souls, and had claimed that they didn't deserve to be saved because they had brought it upon themselves . . . . right up until the point where he had sold his own soul.

Sam’s head pounded, and he knew that trying to understand why Dean was offering him his blood wasn't getting him anywhere.  He still had to find some way to deal with the problem.  He had no way to force Dean to take him with him to Hell.  Dean couldn't teleport if Sam handcuffed them together - the warding would prevent him from using his powers.  Leaving Dean trapped was no solution either.

The idea of letting Dean go back to Hell alone made his blood run cold.  It wasn't just the idea of Dean getting physically hurt that he was worried about.  After all, Dean was immortal now – or so Crowley said.  While Sam suspected that Crowley had been honest about that part, he was highly suspicious of whatever other plans that Crowley might have for Dean.  Crowley was the one who had gotten Dean mixed up in this First Blade mess in the first place.  Surely Crowley must have known that this would happen, and was still after Dean now.  The fact that Crowley was sending Dean easy demon kills proved that Crowley was still actively involved in Dean’s situation.

As quick as Sam had been to come up with a summoning spell for Dean, clearly a lot of time had passed in Hell.  Dean had arrived back dripping with blood, and already pretty far into his investigation.  Crowley had probably been helping Dean, or could have even orchestrated the whole thing for all he knew.  Dean was very vulnerable right now, and Sam was sure that Crowley was taking that to his advantage to twist Dean further away from his humanity.

Sam couldn't let Crowley get to Dean.  He had to protect him, save him.

Sam wished that Cas was here.  Maybe Cas would have been able to talk some sense into Dean where he had failed.  But all of Sam’s calls had gone straight to voicemail.  Clearly Cas had not yet returned from Heaven.  He didn't even know if Cas was still alive, or if his Grace had burned out.  Help might never come.

 

___

 

Castiel neared the portal back to Earth.  He was reluctant to engage with any of the other angels, but he had promised Sam to inquire about ways to remove the Mark of Cain.

He paused when he thought that he had heard his name.  There were some voices coming from around the corner.  Without moving, he listened.

“. . . not fit to lead us anyway, seeing as how he fell apart and abandoned us again when his demented pet human died,” one of the voices was saying.

“Dean Winchester’s death was probably the only good thing to come of this whole mess.  That filthy mud monkey was like a poison . . .” a second voice said.

Castiel couldn't bear to hear any more.  It took all his will power not to draw his angel blade.  They must not have noticed his return to the area, to speak so boldly.  Yet, the fact that they were speaking so boldly where they could easily be overheard suggested that they weren't worried about what other angels would think.  Had this become popular opinion in his absence?  He knew that his former followers had been angry at Dean for unintentionally killing Tessa, and had demanded him punished by Castiel’s own hand, but this seemed deeper than that.

Dean should still be hidden from all angels so long as the Enochian sigils in his ribs were still intact.  None of the other angels knew that he was alive, and it was probably better to keep it that way.  If it became known that he was now a demon, he would be hunted.  Castiel couldn't let that happen.  The news that Dean had the First Blade had probably spread already.  Too many angels had witnessed Dean using the First Blade on Tessa.  It was probably too dangerous to start asking questions about how to remove the Mark of Cain, without arousing suspicion that Dean was still alive.

Castiel couldn't think of any angels that he felt confident that he could trust, even just to try to find out more information about the current state of Heaven.  Just after he had finally been able to return to Heaven, he felt unwelcome.  It was hard to believe that not very long ago, he had had a whole army of angels ready to follow him.  Sam and Dean had been right to feel uneasy about his awestruck followers.  None of them had proved the least bit loyal in the end.  He doubted that any of them would return to him now, were he inclined to lead them.  But he was done trying to fix Heaven.  He was no leader.

The only thing that he could do is get back to Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam coughed as he and Dean arrived in Hell.  The smoke seemed to stick to the still-wet blood in his mouth and throat.

“You okay?” Dean asked him.

“I’m fine,” Sam insisted, forcing his watering eyes to stay open to keep an eye out for an attack.  But Dean seemed to have planned ahead, and landed them in an area that was deserted.  The two brothers set off.

At least Dean hadn't seemed any happier than Sam was about his “solution” to their impasse.  Some part of him probably still knew that what he’d made Sam do was wrong.  Sam tried not to hate him for it.  Really, he was far more filled with self-loathing.  He had sworn that he would never drink demon blood again, and yet he had – _from his own brother_.  Sam wanted to be sick – to try to force up everything that he had drank.  But instead he tried to bury his feelings and focus on the task at hand, falling into step with his brother.  What’s done is done.  He’d made his choice.  Now he had to find a way to help Dean.

“So Hell underwent a lot of management changes, thanks mostly to us,” Dean told Sam with a small smirk, using the same ‘all business’ voice he used whenever sweeping personal problems under the rug.  “Those changes have had some effects on the physical parts of Hell as well.  During all the power struggles, centers of power tended to shift around.  Parts of town belonging to losing factions sometimes got abandoned.  The vault that we are looking for is said to be in one such abandoned area.”

“How does a faction with a whole vault full of powerful weapons lose out to other factions?” Sam asked.

“That part didn't make sense to me either,” Dean admitted.  “That’s part of why this could be a trap.”

They walked most of the way in silence.

As they got close, everything seemed eerily quiet.  Even the sounds of screams seemed to grow distant.  They hadn't encountered a single demon on their way.  This did nothing to help the unease they both felt.

The hidden door was right were Dean’s source said that it would be.  They carefully descended a winding staircase, on the constant lookout for demons, tripwires, or any other sorts of traps.  Nothing.  They soon came across a huge door that only Dean had the strength to open.  Inside was a huge room.

It was completely empty.

“Maybe we got the wrong place,” Sam suggested halfheartedly.

“I don’t think so.  My source personally put the sword here.  Someone else must have beat us here,” Dean fumed, looking around the room for clues.

“You finished off all of your sources, right?  None of them could have . . . ?” Sam asked.

“Of course!  Nobody was left behind.  Ganking demons is always part of the job,” Dean replied.  “Besides – this looks like an old job.”  Dean ran his finger along the ground, showing the very thick layer of dust.  It looked to be decades old, maybe even centuries.  Their hunt for the sword hadn't been going on that long, even by Hell time. 

“Whoever it was, they were pretty neat about it.  I’m not even seeing footprints, other than ours,” Sam mused.

“Well, I still have a few names we can go interrogate.  Somebody has to know something,” Dean said as they headed back for the door.  Suddenly Dean slammed into an invisible wall.  Startled, the brothers looked up.  On the ceiling there was a very faint devil’s trap, large enough to cover the whole room.  They practically had to squint to see it.

“Son of a bitch!  Who the hell uses those in Hell?” Dean growled.  Sam tried to hide his smile as he used his telekinesis to break the ceiling.  Had Crowley come in his place, he would have walked right into the trap with Dean, and been unable to break free.  They could have been stuck here for a very long time.  Dean was giving him a look that very clearly said ‘don’t you dare say anything.’

“Looks like the paint was made from sulfur,” Sam said, turning a piece of the broken ceiling over in his hands before tossing it to Dean.  “Whoever stole everything didn't want anyone else coming after them.”

“So the thief is probably a demon, since not many other creatures have access to Hell,” Dean added.  Sure angels with wings could come to Hell, but finding this place required information.  This seemed like an inside job.

“Let’s start on your list,” Sam replied, as they headed for the door again.

 

___

 

Castiel had started to worry when he saw a few dozen missed calls from Sam awaiting him when he returned to Earth. He hadn't heard any more prayers from Sam.  There was one voicemail, but it was so full of static that he couldn't even make out Sam’s voice.  Human technology, he had learned, could be extremely unreliable at times,  so he tried to shrug it off.

But Sam wasn't answering his cell now.  Neither was Dean.  Castiel tried every number that they had.  Nothing.  Everything went straight to voice mail without even ringing.

Castiel frowned.  Even if the Winchesters were on a case, they shouldn't have switched all their phones off.  Something felt very wrong about this.

Dean had once given Castiel a few lessons about how to hack the GPS on people’s cell phones.  Castiel had never thought that he would have to use it to track down the Winchesters.  Perhaps he wasn't as good as a student as he had hoped.  He was doing everything that Dean had showed him to do, but the cell phone in question wasn't showing up anywhere on the map.  He switched to a global map – still nothing.  Castiel continued down the list of cell phones, all of them coming up completely blank.

Castiel drove to the bunker, and searched for clues for where they could have gone.  He didn't find any case notes, but he found the Impala, the laptops, and the duffels.  He also found the First Blade – in an iron warded box in a waterproof container at the bottom of a tank of holy water, inside a dozen devil’s traps.  Sam could be enthusiastic at times.

None of this made any sense to Castiel.  It was hard to picture Dean choosing teleportation over his beloved Impala.  But had they teleported to a case, perhaps they hadn't expected to be gone long enough to bother packing their bags?  Castiel was tempted to wait for them to return, if not for the nagging feeling that something was wrong.  Perhaps it would be better to look for possible cases that they might have gone on, and see if he could find them in the field.

 

___

 

The hunt for the sword was slow going.  For each name that they crossed off the list, one or two more appeared.  At least demons without meatsuits didn't leave behind a trail of bodies to cover up – they just vanished when Dean finally put them out of their misery.

Sam was forcibly reminded of how Dean had acted right after their father died.  Dean had become downright scary then – using hunting to try to fill the void inside, and lash out from all the crippling pain he was running from.  Sam realized that Dean was doing the same thing now.  All of his urges to kill weren't just coming from the Mark.  This violence was also rising from Dean’s continued repressing of his emotions.  Dean was not letting himself really feel the weight of what had happened to him.  He was still running from it.  Sam didn't know how to help his brother, other than just trying to be there for him.  He knew that he couldn't force Dean to talk about it, even though it always helped him whenever he finally opened up to Sam.

“Sam . . . I hate to even ask you this, but from what Cas told me . . . you had a method that was a lot faster and more efficient than what I've been doing,” Dean said, not meeting Sam’s eyes.  Sam felt a chill as he realized what Dean was referring to.  Sam vividly remembered how he had tortured Alastair for information with his psychic powers.  One of the best torturers Hell had ever seen had been broken in a few seconds.

On the other hand, some of the demons that Dean had been working over had taken over an hour to break.  Using psychic torture would undoubtedly speed up their search.

“I . . . I can’t.  I’m sorry Dean,” Sam told him as Dean nodded like he had expected that answer, but was still disappointed.  “I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to.  Back then . . . after what he did to you . . . I was filled with such rage, and I used that on him.  I don’t think I could do that to just any demon.”

“You could teach me,” Dean said softly after a moment of silence.  Sam didn't doubt that Dean had the rage to fuel that right now.  But, the idea of his brother going down that path terrified him.  Sam had personally experienced where that path led, and he didn't want Dean to ever suffer through that.

“How many demons have you ever seen with precognition?  Jedi mind tricks?  How many have the ability to control other demons?  Exorcise other demons?  There hasn't always been a clear connection between demon abilities and psychic abilities.  Whatever I've got is different from any demons we've ever met,” Sam told him.  It had always been a nagging question in the back of his mind – how demon blood had been able to give him and the other psychic kids some powers that even the demons themselves didn't have.  Sure, he figured Knights of Hell might have some rare special abilities that they didn't know about, but he wasn't going to encourage Dean to go down this road.

“Yeah, well – not many demons can smite with this red light thing I can do,” Dean countered, pondering Sam’s words.  It’d been years since they’d even mentioned anything to do with the other psychic kids.  “The Seven Deadly Sins could compel the people they touched to do things.  It’s rare for demons to have any unusual abilities, I’ll give you that, but I’m no ordinary demon, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam said softly.  He wasn't really sure what to tell Dean.  To his immense relief, Dean let the subject drop.  Sam knew that he hadn't heard the last of this, but at least for now, Dean wasn't going to press him on it.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel found some articles about a string of mysterious deaths in Caldwell, Idaho.  Pulling up security footage of the town, he found what he was really looking for – Sam and Dean had been there a few days ago.  Castiel felt his chest tighten as he saw Dean’s picture.  Dean was talking animatedly with Sam while the two of them were walking, and they seemed to be smiling and laughing.  Castiel was glad to see that Dean was coping better than he would have expected – Dean never ceased to amaze him.  But Castiel also knew that a few seconds of video couldn't possibly show the turmoil that he knew must be just below the surface.  Castiel’s longing to see Dean again and help him was physically painful.  He couldn't find any more recent footage of the Winchesters, so he decided to investigate in person.

Not wanting to waste time driving halfway across the country, he decided to do something that Dean never did – take a plane.  Armed with his fake ID with a matching credit card, he headed to the airport to take the next flight out.

Extremely crowded places made Castiel a little uncomfortable.  There were too many people to keep an eye on, too many bodies where his enemies could be hiding.  They kept bumping into Castiel as they rushed by carrying heavy bags and screaming children.  He never understood why humans subjected themselves to such cramped conditions, especially in parts of the world where there was ample land on which to spread out.

“Sir, put your shoes and trench coat in the basket,” a burly man told him roughly.  Castiel gaped at him.  He had come to regret leaving his original trench coat behind at the laundromat, and hated the idea of losing his new one too.  He then noticed that all the people around him were giving up their possessions.  Why would they bring these things with them, if only to relinquish them?  Was this some sort of hidden fee that he hadn't known about?  Should he have brought more with him?  Most people had bags packed until their seams were nearly bursting.

“Hurry it up, you’ll get it all back on the other side,” the man snapped at him, then muttered a few choice words under his breath that Castiel chose to ignore.  This human ritual was rather strange.  They seemed to be inspecting everything that people were taking on the plane.  But they were not scanning for monsters, cursed objects, or other supernatural threats.  The tendency of most humans to ignore the presence of the supernatural all around them had always been baffling to him.  Castiel reluctantly put his trench coat and shoes in the basket, but kept his angel blade safely hidden at his side, cloaked to be unperceivable to humans and their strange machines.

Castiel felt more like himself again once he got to the other side and retrieved his trench coat.

 

___

 

Sam still needed to eat and sleep, even in Hell.  They had debated about just returning to the bunker at night, but Sam had argued that because of the time difference, the trail might get colder.  A few hours’ sleep on Earth could be weeks in Hell.  But Dean suspected that that wasn't the real reason why Sam was choosing to sleep on the rocky ground rather than his own bed.  Sam was probably worried that Dean would return to Hell to keep hunting while he slept.  He could be frustratingly stubborn.

Dean sighed as he stood guard over Sam, watching his brother’s chest rise and fall.  He supposed that he hadn't really done anything to ease his brother’s paranoia about him.  He probably deserved Sam’s constant suspicion.  That didn't make it any easier to take though.  The distance he felt with Sam, while better than a few months ago, was still like a constant ache in his chest, which felt even more acute at night.

Night was the time when he had no distractions.  He couldn't bury himself in the job.  He didn't have Sam to talk to.  He had wondered if demons could still pray, but was afraid of the answer.  Part of him felt afraid to face Cas now anyway, after what he had become.  Even though Sam had told him how Cas wanted to help him, he still wasn't convinced that he could be helped.  He remembered how Cas used to look at Sam when he’d thought of him as just an abomination.  Dean never wanted Cas to look at him that way.  But Cas probably would now – Dean was a demon, had killed humans, and had corrupted Sam.  He didn't deserve forgiveness from either of them.

Dean started humming Metallica to try to distract himself from his downward spiral of self-hatred.  It always helped calm him down.

Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching, and was instantly on guard.  Dean silently drew his knife and got between the still-sleeping Sam and whoever was coming, ready to attack.

Dean relaxed when he saw Crowley come around the corner, and walked over to him while keeping Sam in sight.  There was only one entrance to the room, and Dean was standing in it.

“That looks uncomfortable,” Crowley said, eyeing Sam but not looking surprised to see him.  “I've got plenty of guest rooms in my palace – silk sheets, unlimited massages, the works!”

“Thanks, but I don’t think Sam’s interested,” Dean told him quietly, hoping that Sam would sleep through Crowley’s visit.  Sam was cranky enough whenever he woke up after getting poked in the back with rocks all night – he didn't want to listen to him bitch about Crowley too.

“His loss.  How is the hunt for the sword coming along?” Crowley asked.  To Dean’s relief, Crowley was following his lead and keeping his voice low.

“Slow,” Dean replied truthfully, wondering how much he should tell Crowley.  Crowley had been nothing but helpful so far.  Perhaps he could help them narrow down the search.  “We found out where it was, but it’s been moved.  From what we've heard, things got pretty crazy down here after I shot Azazel.  It’s been a real headache trying to piece together the different accounts.”

“Good times,” Crowley recalled fondly.  “Always lots of opportunities in a power vacuum like that.  I was King of the Crossroads before my competition even knew what happened.  Well, I could probably help you fill in some of the . . . .” Crowley stopped talking as he was suddenly slammed into the wall by an invisible force, hard.

Sam was awake.  The fury in his eyes took Dean by surprise. 

“Sam, stop!  He’s helping us!  He might have information on the case,” Dean yelled at him.

“We don’t need his kind of help!” Sam snapped back.  “How did he even find us?”

“Well, demons killing each other is hardly anything new, but this many disappearances gets noticed.  I just followed the reports,” Crowley said with a slight smirk, his initial surprise at Sam using telekinesis on him having faded quickly.

“Stay away from my brother,” Sam growled at him.  Sam looked like he wanted nothing more than to fillet Crowley, but was holding back.

“Touchy, touchy.  Well you know where to find me,” Crowley said, and with a snap of his fingers he was gone.

Sam reeled on Dean the second Crowley was gone.

“I don’t care how much Crowley has helped us before.  We can’t trust him, Dean!” Sam yelled at Dean.

“Why, Sam?  Because he’s a demon?  Because – newsflash – so am I!  Is that why you don’t trust me anymore?” Dean yelled back.  Dean twitched slightly at his own words.  He really should _not_ be encouraging Sam to trust demons.  But what was he supposed to do?  If he kept to his old lines about never trusting any demons, then that now included him.  He wasn't ready to admit that maybe Sam was right to not trust him.  Sam looked aghast.

“I _want_ to trust you Dean!  But you aren't acting like yourself.  You’re trusting Crowley. You’re hiding stuff from me.  You are just bottling up all your feelings again, and trusting the wrong instincts.  You want me to trust you?  Then act trustworthy!  Be the man I know you are!” Sam pleaded.

“Sammy,” Dean said with a sigh.  “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”  Admitting that out loud was painful.  Dean hadn't even wanted to admit that to himself.

“I know who you are.  You are still my brother, and I _can_ help you find yourself again.  We can get through this,” Sam told him.  Dean suspected that Sam was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Dean, even though is voice didn't waiver in the slightest.  There was no way that Sam could have that much faith in him, not after everything he’d done.

“Sam, what if Gabriel can’t – or won’t – cure me?  I could be stuck like this.  I’m not transferring the Mark to anyone,” Dean told him.  Part of him wanted to tell Sam to run away now, and part of him was scared that Sam might do just that.

“See – that you wouldn't condemn anyone else to suffer from the Mark just shows that you are still _you_ in there!  But this demon side – it feeds on your fear and insecurities!  I've been there, Dean!  You've got to trust me,” Sam said.

“But it’s a real possibility that . . . ,” Dean argued.

“No, Dean.  Have faith in me.  I _will_ find a way to cure you.  No matter what,” Sam said firmly.

“You will _not_ sell your soul for me!” Dean said angrily, worried just how far Sam would go.  He wasn't worth that.

“I promised that I wouldn't,” Sam tried to reassure him, but didn't sound as convincing as Dean wanted.  He wanted to trust Sam, he did, but he couldn't quite quell all the lingering doubts in his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

“Oh yeah – I remember those two.  Came in a few days ago.  Sat right over there having some sort of lover’s spat,” the waitress told Castiel.  “They left rather quickly if I recall – only ate half their breakfast.”

Castiel frowned.  Even if Dean no longer needed to eat, it wasn't like him to leave food behind without reason.

“Did they leave together?  Which way did they go?” He asked.  He doubted that Sam would leave Dean right now, even if they had had some sort of fight.

“Sorry, I was in the back getting more plates from the kitchen.  When I got back there was cash on the table,” the waitress replied.  Castiel thanked her for her time, and left.  All of his time as a human had helped his people skills tremendously, even if he still didn't feel very skilled at conducting interviews yet.  He walked around the building, looking for any security cameras, knowing that the Winchesters often avoided restaurants that had cameras in the parking lot.  Of course he couldn't be that lucky.

“Castiel?” a voice said behind him, and he spun around, gripping the angel blade under his trench coat.

“Who are you?” he asked the angel in front of him.  Her vessel had long dark hair and big brown eyes, and was wearing a frilly pink top.

“My name is Porosa.  I was one of Tyrus’ followers.  Many of us liked living on Earth so much that we've started moving back here.  I had heard that you had disappeared again?” the angel told him.  She didn't appear to be a threat, but Castiel didn't completely let his guard down.

“What else had you heard of Heaven?” Castiel asked her.

“When I left it was still anarchy up there.  Everybody wants a leader, but they are also reluctant to lead.  After all, almost everyone who has stuck their neck out these past few years has been killed.  But, one of the forerunners is one of your old followers, I believe – Hannah?” Porosa told him.  Castiel frowned.  Hannah was capable, but he hadn't forgiven her for asking him to kill Dean, even if she had eventually helped him capture Metatron.  He also couldn't trust her not to go after Dean now if she found out that he was alive and a demon.  She was hardly his first choice for the new leader of Heaven.

“What brings you here, Castiel?” Porosa asked, interrupting his thoughts.  Castiel regarded her carefully.  If what she was saying was true, then she could be a useful ally, and he didn't have many of those left.  But just how much of the truth could he risk sharing with her?

“Sam Winchester was here a few days ago, but I lost contact with him.  Have you seen him?” Castiel asked.  There was no need to bring up Dean unless she did.

“No, sorry,” Porosa said, looking at him with pity in her eyes.  For a second it looked like she was going to bring up Dean’s “death” but she didn't.  It was probably just as well to avoid having to talk about it.  Castiel didn’t want to accidently betray even the slightest clue that Dean was still alive.  It wasn't like any of the other angels could possibly understand what losing Dean meant to Castiel anyway.  Besides, too many angels were already starting to distrust him for how close he was with the Winchesters.

“Thanks anyways,” Castiel said, turning to leave.

“Why don’t you join me?” Porosa asked him,  smiling gently gesturing back towards the diner where Sam and Dean had been a few days ago.  She cocked her head, twirling her hair in her fingers in a surprisingly human manner.  Perhaps a few of the angels were starting to learn from their exposure to humanity after all.  Castiel just wished that more angels could realize how special humans could be.

“Sorry, but I have to go,” Castiel told her.  He accepted a card with her number on it, in case he ever needed to contact her, then walked away.  He needed to find where the Winchesters had gone next.

 

___

 

Sam hadn't really noticed at first.  After watching Dean torture demons all day, it only seemed natural that some of that would spill over into his dreams.  He always hated watching Dean torture anyone, but what bothered him most now was that it didn't bother Dean anymore.  Having his dreams haunted by memories was nothing new to Sam, so he just shrugged them off and rolled over, trying to force his sleepy mind onto a different topic. 

The days seemed to bleed together anyway.  Sam wasn't even sure how long they’d been down there anymore.  His mind was probably making it out to be longer than it really was.  There was nothing to distinguish day from night down here – Dean just forced them to stop for the “night” whenever he caught Sam’s eyelid’s drooping.  Sam knew that taking away all ways to measure time could sometimes be used as a method of psychological torture.  It seemed fitting for Hell.

At least Dean couldn't do anything without Sam knowing about it now.  Dean was stuck by his side watching over him every night.  Sam sometimes nodded off to sleep to the sound of Dean humming his favorite rock songs, which gave them both an odd sense of comfort and home in this miserable place.

But then some of their interrogation sessions had started feeling oddly familiar.  At first he had shrugged it off as just all of the interrogation sessions falling into a pattern.  Then he noticed that some of the names were also familiar.  From there it was easy to put the pieces together.

Sam hadn't had any visions since before Azazel died.  Despite all of the demon blood that he later drank, he had never had any more visions.  He had attributed the lack of visions to the fact that Azazel and all the other special children of his generation were dead, and they had always been the subject of his visions.  As useful as the visions were, Sam hadn't really missed them.  They had always made his head feel like it was going to split open, and being forced to watch people die was horrible.

But now it was starting again.  Back at Stanford, his visions had started as a series of nightmares that had gotten more and more vivid and complete over time.  Now his visions seemed to be starting off as nightmares again, only this time it looked like they might be focused on Dean.

Sam was snapped back from his thoughts as the demon in front of them revealed the information that Sam had desperately hoped wouldn't be true.

“I helped . . . Alastair move . . . the sword . . . to his private . . . collection,” the demon wheezed.  “Probably . . . still t-there.”

Dean was completely pale.  He seemed completely lost in his thoughts, and Sam realized that he was trembling.  Dean never trembled.  Sam wanted to just wrap his brother in his long arms and hold him close, but he knew that Dean would just shove him away angrily if he tried.  Sam felt helpless to protect his brother from the place where he had spent 40 horrible years.  If he thought that Dean would allow it, he would offer to go retrieve the sword himself to save Dean from having to face that place again.  No matter how hard Dean had tried to hide and deny it, Sam knew that Dean still regularly had nightmares about his time there.

Sam had never forgiven himself for not being able to protect Dean from ever going to Hell in the first place.  He hadn't killed Jake when he had had the chance, or at least had the foresight to pick up his knife.  Dean never would have made that deal if Sam had done a better job at taking care of himself.  All of his attempts to get Dean out of his deal had failed too.  He hadn't even agreed to let Ruby teach him about his powers until it was already too late to save Dean.  Sam felt like a miserable excuse for a brother.  Dean deserved better.  How much more would Dean have to suffer because of him?  Sam felt tears well up in his eyes as he looked at his broken brother.

“Dean?” Sam said softly, wishing he could think of anything to say to make this easier for Dean.

“I never wanted you to have to see it,” Dean whispered, closing his eyes.  Sam swallowed.  He had already glimpsed some of those torture chambers in his dreams last night.  Sam knew that he needed to tell Dean that his visions were back – set a good precedent for more honest communication between them – but he couldn't bear to bring it up when Dean was already hurting so much.  He needed to be strong now, for Dean.  He’d tell him about the visions as soon as they got the sword.

Sam knew that after spending 30 years getting tortured there, that Dean had spent 10 years doing the torturing.  Dean had even admitted that he had enjoyed it.  Now, they needed to avoid awakening any of those old feelings in Dean.  Sam had to keep his brother as human as possible through all of this.  It wouldn't be easy.  All he could really do was try to be there for Dean.

“Dean . . . ,” Sam started to say, trying to sound as sympathetic and comforting as possible and not let on how much his own heart was breaking over seeing Dean go through this.

“Let’s go, Sammy,” Dean said stiffly, and turned away, walking forward with determination and shutting Sam out.  With a sigh, Sam followed.


	11. Return to His Darkest Hour

Dean drew out a map of Alastair’s lair with great precision.  Still avoiding Sam’s eyes, he started explaining the lay of the land to Sam in a detached voice that didn't quite sound like his own.  Dean was sure that some of Alastair’s students had probably taken over the business after Sam killed Alastair.  There was no way that the top torture house in all of Hell had fallen into ruin.  This was going to be dangerous, and he needed to prep Sam as best he could.  It was extremely tempting to just knock Sam out and teleport him back to the safety of the bunker, but Sam seemed to be on guard for that very possibility.  He wasn't going to be able to protect his little brother from this. 

Sam kept looking at him with a mixture of pity and concern.  Dean’s usual stoic composure had temporarily been lost when he had found out that he had to come back here, and now he had to deal with the consequences.  Dean had shown a crack in his armor, and now Sam clearly wanted to talk about it.  It was annoying how Sam always seemed to think that talking about things somehow magically made them better.  Dean was grateful that Sam seemed to be resisting that urge.  He didn't want to talk about it – especially not now.  The last thing that he needed was to open that can of emotions right before a big battle.  He needed to keep his head in the game.  Besides, he didn't like how Sam kept looking at him like he was porcelain and going to break.  He didn't want Sam to think that he was weak.

Dean felt very vulnerable and exposed.  Even the Cliff-notes version of his last time in Hell had been extremely difficult to share with Sam years ago.  There would be no more hiding any of this from Sam after today.  Dean had been at his worst here.  He’d been turned into someone he never wanted to be again.  This was the place where Dean had first started down the dark path toward becoming a demon.  Although he had hardly taken a conventional path after that, the end result was still the same.  He was a demon now, and being here again was like coming back full circle.  It felt like a million knives twisting in every part of his being, and it was all he could do to stay focused on the task at hand.

Sam needed him.  He couldn't let himself fall apart now.

Dean led the way as they entered the building.  As bad as the smells and sounds of the rest of Hell were, they weren't nearly as intense as inside the premier torture house of Hell.  As Dean’s senses were assaulted, he unsuccessfully tried to suppress all the memories that were attempting to flood back into his mind as a result.  The stale air was thick with the smells of blood and bile mixed with the scents of rot and decay, along with the smell of acids and other chemicals used in torture.  Even the fear in the air seemed to have its own smell.  Sam was attempting to suppress a gag at his side.  They soldiered on.

There hadn't been any guards at the door.  Dean doubted that anyone had been stupid enough to break into this place before.  Most demons were terrified of this place, since it housed some of the most fearsome demons in all of Hell.  The prisoners soon lost any hope of escape, trapped inside psychological prisons and unrelenting pain.  There was no need for guards.

Even when Dean had been a prisoner, the hope to escape was one of the first things the demons had set out to destroy in him.  After his father had successfully fought his way out of the Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, the demons weren't about to let Dean have the same opportunity, or even let him entertain the thought.  So they had repeatedly set up traps full of false hope – every time that Dean thought he saw an opening that he could use to escape, it turned out to be a trick with agonizing results.  Over and over again Dean had tried to fight his way out, thinking that there might be some small chance that Sam might open the Devil’s Gate to get to him (which he later found out that Sam had – only Dean hadn't been able to get there to meet him).  Eventually Dean had stopped trying to escape, just like all the other prisoners.  It was just easier to surrender to the regular torture than let himself keep getting his hopes crushed, and he was tired.

Dean struggled to keep his memories at bay as he and Sam continued on their way.  Each side of the dark hallway was lined with doors, and behind each door came the sounds of sick Picassos with knives.  Dean wanted to try to block out the sounds, but he forced himself to stay alert.  If any of those monsters stopped their work and came into the hallway, they needed to strike fast before the enemy knew what hit him.  Before going in, Dean had stressed the importance of Sam striking to kill without any hesitation.  Anything less could be fatal.  This was not the time for Sam to gift him the killing blow.  But they both hoped that they could make it to Alastair’s office without being spotted.

Part of Dean wanted to clean this whole place out, but he knew that even if he did it wouldn't be long before the whole operation was back up and running again.  The other part of him was scared – scared that if he let himself start killing again – in this place – that he wouldn't be able to stop.  He had become too much of a monster the last time he was here.  It wasn't for nothing that this place prided itself in being the fast track for turning souls into demons, and burning away any lingering humanity in record time.  Dean was terrified of unleashing those sense memories within himself.

Ever since he had heard that he had to come back here, Dean had felt two sides of himself battling for control.  He desperately wanted the “human” side to win – even though the terror that side felt was weakening him, it was also the side that had the courage and desire to keep fighting evil.  But it was hard to ignore his demon feelings that were overjoyed to be here.  There was a part of him that relished being back in this place, and had the urge to pick up his tools and join in on the fun.  Dean hadn't felt urges this powerful since he had abandoned the First Blade back at the bunker, and felt grateful that he had had the foresight to leave it behind.  It was hard enough to control himself without the Blade in his hand.  His bloodlust hadn't been too difficult to control during most of his time in Hell, which he attributed to his high frequency of demon kills.  But being back here drastically increased his bloodlust, probably fueled by his memories of all the blood he shed here.

Dean realized that Sam’s presence was a large part of how he was keeping sane.  As reluctant as he had been to bring Sam to this horrible place, Sam was keeping him grounded.  Sam was a solid connection to whatever remnants of humanity Dean might have left.  Even just the presence of his “conscience” made Dean want to do the right thing, for Sam.  Dean’s big brother protectiveness was coursing strongly through his veins, and helping him stay focused on the mission at hand.

The brothers climbed the clanky spiral metal staircase as quickly and quietly as possible.  On the way up, they passed floor after floor exactly like the ones that they had already passed.  The torture chambers seemed to go on forever.  Dean knew that they were all filled, plus there was a waiting list of souls to be added from lesser torture houses.  Last time he was here, Dean hadn't known why he’d been expedited through the system and been given to the top master so quickly.  He had assumed that it was because he had caused so much trouble for demons on Earth.  Now he knew that it had all been part of the plan to get him to break the first seal.  Dean clutched his knife harder at the memory.

After they eventually reached the top of the stairs, they went down one more hallway and found themselves at the door of Alastair’s old office.  Surely it belonged to some new head demon now, and they probably wouldn't be lucky enough for him to be out of his office.  Sam and Dean exchanged a look as they readied themselves.  _Time to do this._   Taking a deep breath, they charged through the door.

A very tall demon with a creepy smile was waiting for them right inside the door, armed with a knife.  Both Sam and Dean immediately tried to fling him, but it only took a few seconds to realize that he was immune to their telekinesis.

“Hello, Dean.  Good to see you again,” the demon greeted them.  The demon was over six feet tall with a thin lanky body.  He looked to be about 25 years old, and his medium brown hair was just long enough to poke him in the eyes.

“Tony,” Dean whispered, taken aback.  Despite all of the scenarios that he had come up with in preparation, this hadn't been one of them.


	12. Haunted By The Past

“So, you’re a demon now too, huh?  Lost that stubborn determination never to break, even if it meant throwing me under the bus day after day after day . . . ,” Tony mocked, seeming to delight in Dean’s reaction.  “And all after we had grown so close too.”  The new twisted demonic version of Tony’s face still had very recognizable features from his old face, but his expressions were like that of another person.

Dean remembered how he had once bonded with Tony.  He wasn't sure how long he had been hanging by meat-hooks in an endless abyss before he had realized that he wasn't entirely alone.  They had been far enough away from each other that they had to yell to hear each other even in the otherwise deathly silent abyss, but that hadn't stopped them from talking.  They had clung to the sound of each other’s voices to take their minds off of their sufferings.  They had also discovered that they could relate with how they had gotten to this horrible place.  Tony’s big brother had had terminal cancer, and Tony had made a deal to heal him.  Tony hadn't regretted making that deal any more than Dean did.  No matter how bad things had gotten in Hell, Dean had never regretting saving Sam for even a second.  Regardless of the lectures he'd given Sam about stopping being martyrs for each other, Dean knew that if it came to it, he’d sell his soul again for Sam.

Even though he should have known better, Dean hadn't realized how much of a set-up meeting Tony had been until one day years later when he found Tony on the rack next to him, with Alastair leering over both of them.  At that moment, when he saw Tony for the first time, Dean noticed the strong resemblance to Sam, and realized exactly what form of psychological torture this was going to be.  Alastair had thought that Dean was taking too long to break, so instead of cutting Dean’s flesh he was going to force Dean to watch Tony be tortured until Dean broke.

Understanding how he was being manipulated didn't stop the technique from being effective.  Every day Alastair made the same offer to Tony as he did to Dean – not because he cared whether or not Tony broke, but because he knew Dean cared.  Day after day, Dean had tried to encourage his surrogate little brother to hold on, but watching it broke his heart.  Despite Dean’s best efforts, it hadn't taken Tony long to crack.  Tony’s first victim had been Dean, before Alastair sent Tony off to apprentice with some of his other students.  The despair that Dean had felt then hadn't caused him to break, but after years more of Alastair’s many other creative ploys, he had eventually broken too.  Dean hadn't seen Tony again, until now.

Dean felt frozen, staring at Tony.   There was no trace of any humanity left in him.  There was no trace of the man that Dean had once counted as a friend.  Now Tony reminded Dean painfully of Alastair – his sinister smile, his body language, even the taunt in his voice.  It was Dean’s fault that Tony had been turned into this.  Tony had been hand-picked to mess with Dean.  If not for Dean, Tony might have ended up in one of the less intensive parts of Hell, and never been turned into a master torturer.

Dean’s nightly nightmares of Hell had often included Tony.  At first, he had just thought that it was his guilt over what had been done to Tony because of him, and not being able to save him.  But, once Dean had found out that he had broken the first seal, he realized that there was another layer to why the thought of Tony had bothered him so much.  He and Tony had both made similar deals to save their brothers – and had booked tickets to Hell without deserving to be there.  Dean knew that other good souls throughout the millennium must have made similar “righteous” deals, only to later break and spill blood in Hell.  So what made Dean the Righteous Man?  Why not Tony, or any of the others before him?  Tony had been of no importance to the demons except as a way to manipulate Dean.  Not that Dean would have wanted anyone else to have to bear the burden of having started the apocalypse, but the questions still haunted him.  Why had Dean and his dad been the only ones (that he knew of) to be singled out as having the potential to break the seal?  Dean had never felt all that righteous, and felt even less so now.

Looking at Tony also almost made Dean feel like he was looking into a twisted mirror.  Was this what he would have become, had Cas not rescued him?  Could Dean have turned into the next Alastair?  He had certainly been well on his way during his last 10 years in Hell.  Dean had quickly risen to become one of Alastair’s top students.  By the time that Cas had shown up, Dean hadn't been torturing long enough to change into a demon himself, but he had become more feared than many full-fledged demon torturers.  Dean’s worst nightmares of his time in Hell were the ones where he was watching himself act like Alastair.  Since in the end Dean still had turned into a demon, was this still a possibility for his future?

Dean was jostled from his thoughts when Sam suddenly threw the knife in his hand directly at Tony’s heart.  Dean swore as Tony easily flicked it away with his own blade.  How could Sam give up his weapon so easily and pointlessly, leaving himself now bare handed?  Sure, the room was covered with displays of other weapons, but by the time Sam rearmed himself, Tony could already be on top of him.  Dean instinctively launched himself between Sam and Tony.

But then Dean realized that his anger and fear were premature when he noticed the look of surprise on Tony’s face.  The knife that Sam had thrown had been a diversion.  At the same moment, Sam had used his telekinesis to stab Tony in the back using one of the many sharp blades on display around the room.

Fire seemed to burn Tony from the inside out as he let out an incredibly loud and agonizing scream, and then dissolved away into nothing.

Dean blinked in shock.  He didn't know whether to be impressed with Sam, or pissed at how reckless that had been.  He didn't know whether to be relieved or sad at Tony’s death.

But Dean didn't have time to sort through his confused feelings right now.  From behind them, they heard the sounds of many metal doors opening, running feet, and war cries.  Dean swore.  Their presence had been revealed.  Dean wasn't sure why Tony’s loud scream had gotten noticed amongst all the other agonizing screams around here, but there was no point in analyzing it.  Now, an army of some of the most fearsome demons in all of Hell was running right for them.

For a brief second, Dean’s bloodlust wanted to try to take them all on.  The power in his veins was cocky – he was an immortal, he could do it.  But the rational part of his brain was screaming at him not to.  He could still be maimed – sliced into enough pieces that he wouldn't be able to fight anymore until he somehow put himself back together.  More importantly, he couldn't risk any of them getting past him to Sam.  Besides, even if he did somehow miraculously defeat all of them and protect Sam, Dean was sure that doing so would revert him back to the evil monster he had been the last time he had been here.

“You hold the door, I’ll find the sword,” Sam called to him as he sprinted to the back office behind another doorway.  Dean slammed and bolted the big metal door behind him, and braced himself against it. 

This was crazy.  Dean may have super strength, but so did all the other demons on the other side of the door.  There was no way he could hold them off for long.  He needed to grab Sam and teleport out of there, sword be damned.  He knew that they probably wouldn't get another chance at this – security would certainly be improved – but all that really mattered was keeping Sam safe.  Besides, with all the hundreds of different weapons all over the multi-roomed office, how the hell was Sam ever going to find the right one before the angry hordes broke in?

“Hurry, Sam!” Dean called, his voice showing the strain he was under, trying to keep the door closed.  “We gotta go!  Forget the sword!”

“Got it!” Sam yelled, racing back towards Dean with a sword in his hand.  Dean heard the door behind him start to crack as he lunged toward Sam.


	13. Disturbing Realizations

The bunker.  They were both alive, and they had made it home – with the sword.  The brothers chuckled lightly in relief as they tried to catch their breaths.  Being back felt like a huge weight off of Dean’s chest.  For the first time in a long time, they had scored a major win, but he couldn't quite figure out how.

“What the hell, Sammy?  The sword was in the first place you looked?” Dean asked.  “Are you even sure it’s real?”  Dean tensed when Sam bit his lip and looked down, weighing his words.

“There is something I have to tell you,” Sam said slowly.

“What?” Dean asked, worried.  Sam had never left his sight the whole time they were in Hell.  What could have happened?

“My nightmares are back,” Sam told him with resolve.

“You mean like . . . _nightmares_ nightmares?” Dean said after a beat, and Sam nodded.  “Shit, Sammy.”  Dean wondered how he could have missed this.  It was yet another thing that was his fault too.

“Before you say anything, I only just realized myself.  They started off slowly, like last time,” Sam apologized, wincing at what was sure to be memories of nightmares of Jess burning on the ceiling, and Sam’s worries that Dean would chastise him for not telling him sooner.  But Dean felt more worried and guilty than angry.  He brushed his thoughts aside and plastered on a fake grin that he hoped looked reassuring.

“Well Haley Joel, some rehab will clear that up for you.  I won’t even make you go cold-turkey this time.  Just let me know when you’re jonesing, and we’ll keep easing off on your doses,” Dean told him, trying to be more considerate than the previous times he’d forced Sam to detox.  No need to make this any rougher on Sam than it had to be, especially since none of this was his fault.  Dean couldn't bear the thought of locking up his little brother after all Sam had just sacrificed for him.

“I’m not jonesing,” Sam said slowly, not looking at Dean.

“Not at all?” Dean asked, surprised.  He’d lost track of time down there, but it had felt like weeks.  Sam had never had a second drink, but he hadn't seemed to have weakened at all during that time so Dean hadn't really thought about it until now.  From the look on Sam’s face, Dean was guessing that Sam hadn't either.  Dean frowned.  While he had never asked all the gory details, he was pretty sure that this was longer than Sam had gone between doses of Ruby’s blood.

“Sorry about killing your friend,” Sam said softly, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“He wasn't Tony anymore.  Not really.  You saved our bacon back there,” Dean told him, not really wanting to talk about this either.  He felt mentally and emotionally drained, and wished that some whiskey and some sleep could do anything for him.  Dean knew that Sam had made the right call – acting quickly and decisively just like Dean had told him to do.  When Dean had frozen, Sam had done what had to be done. 

But Dean couldn't help but wonder – could Sam do what he had to do if Dean ever became like Tony?  Dean was pretty sure that Sam would yell at him for being a hypocrite if he ever asked.  After all, Sam had once forced Dean to promise to kill him if he ever went dark-side, and Dean had later admitted that he never had any intention of doing so.  Dean felt like he understood what Sam had been going through a little more now.  As horrible as it was to have been turned into a monster, Dean had gotten a small glimpse tonight of how much further he could fall.  It was terrifying.

“Dean . . . ,” Sam began, clearly wanting Dean to open up and have a chick-flick moment.

“Let’s get changed out of these bloody clothes, then I’ll fix you a hot meal,” Dean told him, brushing past him on his way back to his room.

 

___

 

Sam tried to ignore the aches in every part of his body as he shuffled into his room.  He had been so distracted when he and Dean had left for Hell that he had forgotten to leave his cell phones behind, which were useless in Hell anyway.  He plugged his primary cell phone in, and started changing his grimy clothes.  He thought about burning the clothes he’d taken to Hell.

Sam sighed as he flopped onto his bed in clean clothes, resting for a minute.  All of Hell had been miserable, but what he’d seen on the last day hit a new level of terrifying.  How the hell had Dean lasted 30 years in such a place without breaking?  Sam felt a new appreciation for how incredibly strong Dean really was.  Sam knew that he hadn't seen the worst of the torture house, only heard the sounds coming from behind closed doors, but he could imagine.  He was no stranger to torture, having survived the Cage with two pissed off and creative archangels.  But Sam’s own torture hadn't been specifically designed to turn him into a monster, not like Dean’s was.  Sam knew that all those memories must be weighing heavily on Dean now, threatening to pull him under again.  Dean had handled himself surprisingly well back at the torture house, but Sam knew that the danger triggered from their time there had just begun.  He’d have to watch Dean carefully, and try to get him to open up.

Sam cringed at the memory of Tony, feeling like there was an icy knife in his chest.  Dean had never mentioned Tony, but he hadn't really mentioned anyone else either from his time in Hell except Alastair.  It wasn't that hard to put the pieces together though.  Someone with a strong resemblance to Sam being used to hurt Dean?  Dean had been probably forced to repeatedly see all of Tony’s insides, while being helpless to do anything save the one thing he refused to do – break.  Sam felt tears in his eyes, thinking about how much that must have torn Dean apart.

He was interrupted by the sound of his phone chirping at him, having downloaded all the messages he’d missed while he was gone.  They hadn't been gone that long by Earth time, so Sam frowned at the number of chirps he heard.

There were a bunch of messages from Cas.  He was alive!  Sam felt a rush of relief, followed by concern at the number of messages.

“Sam – Dean – where are you?  Call me!” Castiel’s voice said, sounding a bit frantic.  Sam winced – he had left a detailed message for Cas, explaining about going to Hell and why.  Was that why Cas was sounding freaked, because they’d gone to Hell, or was there something else?  Without taking the time to listen to all the other messages, Sam quickly dialed his friend.

 

___

 

Castiel had taken his search for the Winchesters as far as he could.  This hunt had tested him on everything Sam and Dean had ever taught him, and Castiel was immensely frustrated by his own limitations.  He missed the days when all he had to do was think of Dean, and he could be at his side.  It had been very difficult to find which hotel they had used under one of their many aliases, but Castiel had eventually found it.  The Winchesters had checked out after the last suspicious death in the area, so that probably meant that they had wrapped up the case and moved on.  But that was where the trail grew completely cold.

Frustrated, Castiel resigned himself to head back to the bunker to wait for news.  He was most of the way to the airport when his phone rang.  Castiel’s heart leapt.

“Sam?  Where are you?”

“At the bunker.  Dean and I are both safe back from Hell.  Wha . . . ,” Sam responded.  It was a relief to hear Sam’s voice, and know that he and Dean were safe at the bunker, but Castiel clenched at the mention of Hell.

“Hell?  You went to Hell?” Castiel interrupted urgently.  That was the _last_ place Dean should be going right now.

“Didn't you get my message?” Sam asked, confused.

“There was just static,” Castiel told him.  He listened as Sam launched into a quick summary of their trip.  Even without any of the details, Castiel could hear how worried Sam was about Dean just from the sound of his voice.  Castiel was angry with himself for having not gotten back to the Winchesters in time to go with them to Hell.  Perhaps he should have risked getting even closer to that artifact in Heaven, but the molecules of his vessel had threatened to vibrate off of him as it was.  He hadn't been fast enough to be there for Dean during that ordeal, but he could finally go to him now.

“I’ll be there in a few hours.  Take care of Dean, Sam!”

 

___

 

Crowley smirked as the reports came in.  Dean had revisited the place where he had studied under Alastair, and not even Sam could protect him from those memories.  Crowley scratched behind Juliette’s ears and took a leisurely sip of his glass of Craig.  Things were going well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes - the long awaited Dean and Cas reunion is next!
> 
> Comments/Kudos loved <3  
> (you don't have to be a registered user)


	14. "True" Face?

Dean caught himself pacing around the room.  Cas could be here any time now, and he didn't know what to say to him.  How could he even begin to apologize for failing to kill Metatron, and not realizing that the First Blade was changing him into a demon until it was too late?  Cas had repeatedly sacrificed so much for him, more than he had ever deserved, and now he was ashamed to let Cas see what he had become.

“Dean – relax!  Cas is your friend.  That hasn't changed.  He wants to help you just as much as I do,” Sam tried to reassure him again.  Dean bit back a retort about how they were both freakin’ crazy to stand by him now.

There was a squeak as the metal door above them opened, then the patter of steps coming down the stairs.  Dean realized that he was holding his breath.

Castiel smiled as he caught sight of Dean.  He seemed to glow with a light that Dean hadn't been able to see before.  The energy radiating out of his skin and vibrant blue eyes was just a taste of the energy inside his vessel.  The effect was rather stunning, and Dean felt his jaw drop slightly in awe.  Their eyes locked for a second before Dean looked away.  How could Cas smile at him now?

“Hello Dean – it’s good to see you,” Cas told him warmly.

“I’m glad that you’re okay Cas,” Dean replied, feeling embarrassed and still avoiding Castiel’s eyes.

“Dean, I am so sorry that . . . ,” Cas started, his voice betraying enough emotion that it hit Dean like a punch.

“This isn't your fault, Cas – none of it.  You have nothing to be sorry for.   I brought this upon myself,” Dean interrupted.  Geez, both Sam and Cas were blaming the wrong person here.  Dean could just feel Castiel’s eyes boring into him.

“If I had just been faster . . . ,” Cas tried to protest.

“No, Cas!  You did everything you could.  The Mark would have changed me anyway,” Dean told him firmly, willing Cas to stop blaming himself for Dean’s own mess.

Cas sighed, like he didn't want to argue with Dean anymore, even though he still didn't agree that it wasn't his fault.  He looked at Dean with such sad eyes filled with longing that it made Dean sigh too.

“Cas, how can you even look at me?  I know I’m hideous now,” Dean deflected, turning away from Cas again.  Dean was grateful that Sam could only see his human face, but he knew that Cas would be able to see his “true” face.  His real face had been warped into something horrible that represented who he was now.  Dean had been pointedly avoiding mirrors ever since his transformation, but he knew what he looked like now.  He’d noticed the way that Sam had silently removed all the mirrors in the bathrooms at the bunker, and had draped sheets over the mirrors in the hotels.  Dean was grateful for Sam’s efforts, but hadn't been able to bring himself to say anything.  But try as he might, Sam couldn't protect him from all of his reflections.  Dean caught brief glimpses of himself everywhere that they went.  Even the mirrors in the Impala and the surface of his glass of whiskey betrayed his new reality.  He looked just like those sons of bitches that he’d just been torturing in Hell.  Every reflection was a reminder of the lie he was trying to live.

“Dean,” Cas said, somehow both gently and sternly, cupping Dean’s face with his hand and turning his head until their eyes met.  “When I look at you, I still see you!  I see the same righteous man that I gripped tight and raised from perdition.  I see the same bright beacon that I have followed all these years because _I believe in you_.”

“Cas, I’m not . . . ,” Dean tried to say.  He was a bit taken aback by both Cas’ words and the unexpected touch.  As much as Cas was prone to invading his personal space, it usually didn't involve much touching of his face unless Cas was zapping him with some of his mojo.  They more commonly gave each other an occasional hug or shoulder clasp.  Dean nervously eyed the hand that seemed to be lingering on the side of his chin.

“No, Dean.  You proved to me that it was possible to defy the will of Heaven.  You have succeeded in doing things that I never thought possible.  You taught me the value of free will, and that anything is possible.  You still have the power to create your own destiny, and we will find a way to cure you,” Cas told him with a certainty that Dean wished he shared.  Dean swallowed.

“Uh, thanks Cas,” Dean replied awkwardly, clearing his throat.  He pulled away, and took a few steps back, trying to look anywhere but at either Cas or Sam.  “So your Grace – it’s better?”

“Temporarily – it should hold for at least a few more months,” Cas admitted.  “Here, I brought you something.”  Dean hadn't noticed the large bag that Cas had until that moment.  Dean accepted the bag from Cas’ outstretched hand, placed it on the table, and opened it.

Stacked one on top of the other were about half a dozen pies.  Each pie was a different flavor – apple, peach, pecan, pumpkin, key lime, blueberry, and cherry.  Scrawled across the top of each pie in whipped cream was the word “Sorry.”  Dean’s heart caught in his throat.  Cas had always been good at the thoughtful gestures.

“I know that you don’t need to eat any more, and I’m not sure how it might taste differently as a demon, but . . . ,” Cas started to say, but paused when he saw how much Dean was grinning.

“You did good, Cas.  Dude, none of the diners we've been to lately have had any pie.  I was beginning to think that we needed to check the lore books for monsters that could create a pie shortage,” Dean told him.

“I’ll get us some plates,” Sam said with a chuckle, clearly amused at how hungrily Dean was eyeing the pies.  Dean wasn't even sure where to start.  He wondered if his demon stomach had limits.  He hadn't ever really felt full as a demon, but then again he had never been faced with pie.

“Dig in Cas,” Dean told him as Sam returned with plates, forks, and knives.  “And don’t give me any of that ‘I don’t need to eat’ crap.  That’s not going to fly with me anymore.  We eat, you eat.”

“Alright Dean,” Cas replied with an amused smile, accepting one of the pieces that Dean had cut for him.  “I take it the selection is satisfactory?”

“Damn straight,” Dean told him as he finished serving Sam a piece, and helped himself to one.  He moaned with pleasure as the pie hit his tongue.  God he missed this.

“Need a room while you piegasm?” Sam quipped.  Dean flipped him off.  Sam rolled his eyes and laughed.

 

___

 

Castiel was thrilled that the reunion had gone better than he had hoped.  He was relieved that Dean didn't seem to be mad at him, and was still willing to accept his help.  He should have known that Dean would insist on shouldering most of the blame for what had happened, even if it hadn't really been his fault.  No human should have to take on the responsibility of angel battles, not even a human as special as Dean.

Castiel had had to visit three bakeries before he had found pies for Dean, but he was glad now that he had made the extra effort.  Dean had indulged himself in the pies with such impressive gusto and enthusiasm that it had made him seem years younger.  He had eventually been forced to stop and acknowledge his own physical limitations on just how much pie he could eat in one sitting.  Now Dean was lying on the couch in a “food coma” as Sam called it, still rubbing his extended belly and licking his lips with pleasure.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam told him as the two of them put the leftover pie in the fridge.  “I don’t think I've seen him that happy in years.”  Sam still had a smile on his face from the fun evening, but his eyes were glancing in Dean’s direction with a sad longing.

“My pleasure,” Castiel replied. 

“You know it wasn't just the pie, right?  It’s you.  It’s good to have you back, Cas,” Sam told him, glancing his way with gratitude and a hint of something else in his eyes.

“Thank you, Sam.  How is he doing, really?” Castiel asked.

“About what you’d expect,” Sam told him.  “He’s acting tough and trying not to show just how much this is getting to him.  He’s terrified, Cas.  Things have been bad many times before, but he’s never not been able to trust himself before.  He’s tried to push me away a couple of times because he’s afraid that he’s going to hurt me, but at the same time, he’s almost clinging to me like he’s afraid that I’m going to abandon him.  I don’t know how to get through to him – get him to believe in me, and believe that we can get through this.”

“You said that your mission to retrieve Kali’s sword was successful?” Castiel said.

“Yes – we’re all set to summon Kali back in the morning.  I just don’t know how Dean will take it if it turns out that Kali was lying about Gabriel being alive,” Sam replied.

“We can’t think like that,” Castiel told him, a little more forcefully than he meant.  “If we want Dean to believe, then we have to believe.  Dean will be able to sense if we are not sincere in our belief.  We have to have faith that there is a cure, and that we will find it.”

Sam nodded, and left for bed.  Cas stayed behind to watch over Dean.  He knew that Dean was still conscious, since demons didn't sleep, but Dean seemed to still be in post-pie bliss.

Castiel was aware that Dean now had a second face, a demonic one, but it seemed less real than those of the other demons that he had seen.  Castiel refused to refer to it as Dean’s “true” face.  Dean’s real true face was the one that Castiel had carefully re-sculpted with his own hands after he had rescued Dean from Hell.  Dean’s real true face was the one that had just delighted at all of those pies, and had laughed and joked while stuffing that face.  Dean’s real true face was the one that he could touch – had touched – earlier this evening when he had guided Dean’s eyes to meet his.  Before he had been able to return to the bunker, Castiel had been worried that it would be difficult for him to look at Dean’s new form.  But in the end he’d realized that it didn't matter – he only had eyes for the bright light he still saw in Dean’s real true face.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean knew that Cas was standing nearby, watching over him as he lay on the couch.  Normally he found it uncomfortable, and he had told Cas many times that it was creepy.  Not that he’d ever admit it, but right now it was oddly comforting, knowing that Cas was there.

Cas had never spent much time at the bunker before, something that Dean blamed himself for.  He’d let Gadreel force him to kick Cas out – even worse at a time when Cas was lonely, vulnerable, and needed his help.  Dean never could have done it if Sam’s life hadn't been on the line, but despite that he was still haunted by the pain that he’d caused Cas.  He wanted this time to be different.  After a lifetime of being homeless, Dean had made a home here with Sam (even if Sam still didn't see it that way).  He knew that to angels, Heaven was home, and that Cas now finally had a way to return.  But Cas deserved a better home than that.  Someplace that wasn't full of dicks.  Not that a demon for a roommate was much better, but it was all he had to offer.

“We should give you a bedroom,” Dean said suddenly, opening his eyes and glancing at Cas with a small smile.

“Why?  I do not need to sleep any more than you do,” Cas asked, tilting his head quizzically in the way that Dean had grown fond of.

“Here – I’ll show you,” Dean told him, as he led the way into his own room.  “I spent my whole life on the road.  This is the first time I've ever had a space of my own, so I personalized it.”  He watched as Cas glanced around the familiar decorations, still looking like he was a bit puzzled by Dean repeating things he already knew.  “Now I figure with you, it’s the same thing.  You never even had your own space in Heaven – you just visited other people’s Heavens.  You never had your own space when you were human either.”

Dean then took Cas to the empty bedroom next to his, wishing that he’d thought to scrub it clean first, or at least dust it.  He smiled at the thoughtful expression that had come across Cas’ face.

“You can put anything you want in here.  You know – whatever makes you happy,” Dean told him.  There seemed to be a hint of amusement in Cas’ eyes.

“Yes Dean – I’m planning to stay.  I’m not going to leave you,” Cas told him, looking right into his eyes.  Dean swallowed.  There were times when he could swear that Cas could read his mind, and see layers of his thoughts that he tried to keep hidden.  Everything that he’d just said to Cas had been completely sincere, but Cas had immediately seen what had prompted Dean to bring it up now.  Cas staying, after everything Dean had done, was more than he deserved.

“All these years, and you still don’t believe that you deserve to be saved,” Cas observed with a sadness in his eyes that Dean wished he could take away.  But he couldn't deny the truth in those words.

“Evil demons deserve to be saved now?” Dean tried to joke, but he knew it was off.

“You are not evil.  And I will save you,” Cas said with such certainty it was like he was reading God’s Will.  “But for now – having you here alive in this room – that’s what makes me happy, even if I don’t need to sleep here.”  Dean didn't know what to say to that.  Cas could be so bluntly honest sometimes that he ended up saying really awkward things.

“Do you ever miss sleeping?” Dean asked, eager to talk about anything but feelings.  Cas regarded him.

“I found the need to sleep frustratingly limiting and time consuming,” Cas admitted, but his eyes were slightly glazed in a way that suggested that he was a bit fond of some of his memories of his brief time as a human.  “However I did enjoy dreaming – that is a rather remarkable human ability that can be quite pleasant.  It was a bit different than I expected, having my own dreams, rather than visiting yours.”

“Well, you won’t be able to do that anymore either,” Dean said with a sigh.  Although it had been sometimes annoying, or even embarrassing, having Cas pop in on his dreams before, he’d take it now.  “Even as a soul trapped in Hell, I could still dream.  But now?  Can’t sleep, can’t dream.”

“And you find always being awake to be disconcerting?” Cas asked.  Dean knew that Cas had spent most of his existence constantly awake, and that this was the kind of thing that would have puzzled the old Cas.  But now Cas seemed to have a much better understanding of humans, including the issues of a newly human-turned-demon.  Dean remembered with a shutter a psychotic kid he’d once met that hadn't been able to dream for years.  That kid had turned into a killer.  Did the inability to dream slowly drive other demons mad too?

“Kinda makes everything feel like one really long day,” Dean admitted.  He didn't miss his nightly nightmares of Hell (although those hadn't been as bad as actually having to physically revisit Hell), but he did miss the good dreams, and the ability to just black out into blissful unconsciousness.

“Well, even if you can’t dream in your sleep, you can go anywhere you want.  You could transport us to the places you normally dream about,” Cas suggested.  Dean stared at him.

“You saying that you want to go on fake dreams with me?” Dean asked.

“Consider it mini nightly vacations from your normal life,” Cas said.  Dean considered it for a moment.  It’d be good to get out of the bunker for something other than hunting.

“One condition – this goes both ways.  You’re gonna have to share some of your dream destinations with me,” Dean told him.

 

___

 

The lateness of the hour in America, and Cas’ insistence that he could speak all human languages made them end up someplace unexpected.  Dean could appreciate the irony that he felt more normal visiting other realms like Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory than he did visiting other continents on his own planet.  His life was weird. 

They had debated for a while what kind of destination to try first.  Dean tried to make suggestions based on some of the less awkward dreams that Cas had popped in on, but Cas seemed to have other ideas.  He reminded Dean of the time where he had popped in on Dean getting a very through Thai massage.  Dean tried not to turn red at the memory.  He knew that Cas meant well – he was probably just trying to relieve some of Dean’s lingering tension from his recent visit to Hell.  Dean was initially tempted to blow the idea off – he was never one for much coddling.  But this really wasn't just about him – Cas had been through a lot lately, and even though Dean knew that Cas wasn't thinking about himself, Cas could really use a way to de-stress too.

After Cas had agreed to Dean’s condition that they both (separately) get massages, Cas had started searching on the computer to find an authentic Thai massage place.  Dean fiddled restlessly while Cas read through pages in what Dean assumed to be Thai, before making a selection.  He then showed Dean on a map where he thought a good place to appear would be.

Dean couldn't help but smile a little bit when he put two fingers to Cas’ forehead.  When teleporting Sam, he had just touched his shoulder, but he couldn't resist with Cas.  It was a very strange role reversal.  As much as Dean wished they could go back to the ‘good old days’ when a Cas with wings could fly Dean’s human self anywhere with just the tap of his fingers, it was kind of fun to be able to do it back to Cas now.  Even though Cas was expecting it, the way that his eyes widened with awe spoke louder than words.  Cas was wondering if he was now feeling how Dean had felt all those times they had flown together.  Their eyes locked for a moment before Dean motioned for Cas to lead the way.

The bustling streets were not as different as Dean had expected.  If not for the fact that nobody around him was speaking English, he could have fooled himself into thinking that he was still back in America.  As they walked, he mentally cataloged the small differences that gave the place its own unique flavor.  Other than a brief trip to Scotland a few years ago, he hadn't ever really experienced any foreign countries before.

Castiel didn't seem any less comfortable here than back in America.  Dean let him do all the talking, trusting him to handle it.  It was strange to not be able to take part in the conversation, but Dean found that he got a good read on what was going on just by watching body language and facial expressions.

Dean grinned when he met his masseuse.  She may have been fully clothed, but otherwise she could easily have modeled for his favorite magazine.  He hoped that Cas in the next room was enjoying a similar view. 


	16. Chapter 16

“Where have you guys been?” Sam asked as Dean and Castiel appeared back in the study.  He’d awoken to find the bunker empty, but figured that since Castiel was probably with Dean that he didn't need to worry.  He was glad that Dean now had someone else who didn't need sleep to spend his nights with.  He’d been spending the day researching – checking for signs of new cases, and rereading everything that might even mention the Mark of Cain.

“Sorry Sammy, lost track of the time,” Dean told him as he tossed a paper back at Sam.  “Here – we brought you breakfast.” 

“Breakfast?  Dude – what time zone were you in?” Sam asked with a smirk as he glanced at the donuts in the bag.  He’d already eaten breakfast hours ago – a healthy one – but the aroma of the maple glaze was too good to resist.  While he didn't have as much of a sweet tooth as Dean, one of his weaknesses was for anything with maple – like maple syrup on his pancakes, and maple glaze on his donuts.  Dean always exploited this whenever he thought Sam had been eating too healthily for his own good, or whenever he was trying to be extra nice.

“Yeah, whatever.  Eat up, and then we’ll summon the bitch,” Dean replied as he left to go set up.  Sam was grateful that Dean’s good mood seemed to be holding, and shared a grin with Castiel.

 

___

 

Sam lit the candle and read the invocation.  A familiar flash of red light and smoke filled the center of the room.  Sam, Dean, and Castiel watched as Kali appeared out of the dissipating puffs of smoke.

“I see you found my sword.  Hand it over,” Kali ordered, eyeing Dean.  Dean was gripping the hilt of the sword tightly, keeping the point facing towards Kali.  Sam and Castiel both likewise had weapons ready.

“Not so fast – give us Gabriel, and it’s all yours,” Dean told her.

“Hand it over now demon scum!” Kali hissed, her eyes glowing red with anger, and her hair puffing out slightly like it was crackling with electricity.

“Unless you plan to fight a Knight of Hell, an angel, and the world’s best hunter, I suggest you give us Gabriel,” Dean told her evenly.  He looked her right in the eyes, just daring her to blink or look away.

“I keep my bargains.  I’ll let you watch over my sword until I deliver Gabriel to you,” Kali told him, clearly still royally pissed but thinking better of going up against the three of them and her sword.  “I last saw Gabriel about three months ago.”

“Wait – you mean you don’t know where he is now?” Sam interrupted.

“Foolish human!  Gabriel comes around every few months or so.  Such small periods of time don’t mean much when you are as old as we are.  When next he comes around, I’ll bring him to you.  Then you will give me my sword or face my full wrath,” Kali told them, the fire still burning in her eyes.

As soon as Kali was gone, Sam locked the sword in a box warded against pagan gods, and then turned to Dean.

“Dean . . . ,” Sam started to say.

“I’m going out for a drink,” Dean said angrily, stomping away.

“We’ll come with you,” Sam said quickly as he and Castiel raced after Dean.

“No – I promise I won’t kill anything, just give me an hour or two!” Dean told them.  Sam sighed.  He didn't like the idea of Dean going off alone when he was angry (and potentially violent), but smothering him wasn't going to help.  Dean nodded at the resignation on Sam’s face, and vanished.

 

___

 

Dean reappeared at a bar in Michigan, figuring that that was far enough away that Sam and Cas couldn't follow him in the car.  It was still early enough that hardly anyone else was around.  He knew that the alcohol wouldn't get him drunk, no matter how much he wished it could.  He really just wanted to go through the motions of the familiar act, to help distract him from thinking too much about his situation.  That, and to have a few minutes to himself without Sam or Cas hovering over him and giving him concerned looks.  Most of all, he didn't want to admit that they had good reason to be concerned about him.  So long as he had had a goal to focus on, he’d been able to keep it together.  But now – it could be months before Gabriel showed up, and they still had no idea whether he’d help him or not.

“A round of scotch for me and my bestie,” Crowley said as he slid onto the stool next to Dean.  Dean glared at him.  He came here to be alone, not to listen to whatever Crowley had to say.

“How’d you find me?” Dean asked.

“One of my men just so happened to see you come in here,” Crowley told him casually, as he raised his glass towards Dean.  “Cheers.  So Dean – did you enjoy your tropical vacation in the steamy furnaces of Hell?  All the demons you can mutilate?”  Dean scowled.

“Torturing demons is not my idea of fun,” Dean told him stubbornly.

“You sure?  Or would you rather an all-out fight to the death sprawl?  Although I've got to tell you, it’d be hard to find opponents of your caliber,” Crowley suggested, and Dean ignored him.  Crowley seemed to really get what the monster inside Dean really wanted, even if he was refusing to give in to those urges.  Still, he realized that he felt some strange kind of camaraderie with Crowley that he doubted that Sam or Cas could ever understand.

“It was probably just another dead end to getting the Mark removed anyway,” Dean admitted with a sigh.

“So you _want_ to get rid of it now?” Crowley asked.

“Do you know of any ways to get rid of it?” Dean asked, hoping that maybe Crowley knew more than they did.  He’d been a wealth of knowledge about the Blade from the start, even if he had been a scrooge about sharing.

“Well, you could always give it to me,” Crowley said casually.

“No,” Dean told him flatly.  Crowley may have been an occasional ally of his, but he wasn't stupid enough to hand over the Mark to him.  He hadn't forgotten any of the horrible things that Crowley had done in the past, and could do again in the future.  Dean had already made the mistake once of letting a Knight of Hell loose on the world when he’d accidentally let Abaddon escape – he wasn't going to make that mistake again.

“In that case, I can’t help you.  Sorry squirrel,” Crowley replied as casually as if the matter of no importance, but Dean wasn't fooled.  Crowley would never have dragged him into this in the first place if he’d thought that Cain would've given Crowley the Mark.  Getting Cain to give Dean the Mark was probably Crowley’s second choice – probably a precursor to trying to get Dean to give him the Mark, or just using Dean to do his dirty work like take out Abaddon.  Crowley drained his drink, and turned to leave.

“Wait – what have you heard of Gabriel?” Dean asked.

“Last I heard of Gabriel, he was shishkabob on Lucifer’s blade,” Crowley told him.  “Why do you want to get rid of the Mark anyway?  You’re immortal, you’re powerful – you can have anything you want!  It’s all up from here!”

“Not everything,” Dean said, seeking relief that he couldn't get from his glass of alcohol.

“It’s Sam, isn't it?  It’d be easy enough for you to turn him into a Knight too,” Crowley said.  Dean nearly choked on his drink.

“What?” Dean demanded, horrified and curious at the same time.

“Have you not _listened_ to anything I've told you?  Cain created the Knights of Hell.  That’s one of your powers too,” Crowley told him with exasperation like this should have been obvious.

“How?” Dean asked in a hoarse whisper.  In light of this new information, a terrifying thought had occurred to him.  He’d given Sam his blood, without thinking that it might be different than normal demon blood.  What if he’d accidentally turned Sam?  Was that why the blood hadn't worn off yet?

“Simple – you place the right hand of the person you want to convert on the Mark, while holding the blade up to their chest.  Then you guide the power of the Blade into them, will them to change.  It doesn't matter if the other person consents or not, or if they are human or demon.  I don’t think it’s been tested on angels,” Crowley told him.  Dean let out his breath.  The process sounded like it had to be deliberate, so Sam should still be human.  It still didn't explain what was happening with Sam’s powers, but Dean had had enough new revelations for one day.  Dean put enough money on the bar to cover his drinks, and headed for the door.

“Just think about it Dean – you’d never have to lose anyone again!  Just picture it – you could have your own little immortal entourage!” Crowley called after him.  Dean tried to banish such images from his mind.


	17. Chilling Truths and Implications

Dean wasn't really feeling ready to face Sam right now.  Crowley’s words were still ringing in his mind, and filling him full of guilt and other feelings that he didn't even want to think about or acknowledge.  Still, he couldn't stay away from the bunker for too long without causing Sam and Cas to worry, so he teleported back.  He heard Sam and Cas talking softly as he approached, but Dean’s head was spinning a little too much to pay attention to their discussion.  They looked up as he entered the room.

“Cas – can I talk to you a second?” Dean asked, trying to ignore the concerned and bewildered looks that they both gave him.  Cas immediately got up and followed him to another room.

“What is it Dean?  Are you alright?  What happened?” Cas asked.  Dean took a deep breath.

“Cas, I need you to tell me everything you know about my powers,” Dean told him, wanting a second opinion from what Crowley had said.  He didn't feel like his heart was going to slow down until he knew Sam would be okay.

“I’m sorry Dean – I know disconcertingly little about the effects of the Mark,” Cas admitted, still trying to search Dean’s face for answers about what had just happened.

“What do you mean, ‘disconcertingly?’” Dean asked.

“I've discovered strange gaps in my memory.  I suspect that they relate back to whatever reprogramming that Naomi did to me.  Cain’s lifetime is one of the time periods which I can’t completely account for,” Cas told him, clearly distressed.  “Had I known more about the Mark then maybe I could have warned . . . .”

“Stop blaming yourself Cas!  None of this is your fault,” Dean told him, squeezing his shoulder and trying to give him a reassuring smile but not quite pulling it off.  “So then I guess I already know everything you know.”  Dean tried not to be disappointed.  He really didn't want to think about all the pain that Naomi had caused Cas either.

“Yes.  Dean – what’s this about?” Cas asked.  Dean hung his head.  He really didn't want to tell Cas what he’d done, but he knew that it would come out sooner or later.

“Before we went to Hell, I gave Sammy some of my blood to protect him.  Only now it won’t wear off.  I don’t know what it’s doing to him, Cas,” Dean admitted, voice shaking.  He expected Cas to be horrified, to finally see him for the abomination that he was, and want nothing more to do with him.  Instead, Cas just seemed confused.

“There is no demon blood in Sam,” Cas said slowly, eyeing Dean like he was talking crazy.

“Yes there is, Cas!  And he never weakened, or went through withdrawal, or nothing!” Dean told him angrily.

“No, I can assure you there is no demon blood in him,” Cas told him.  Dean turned away and walked back to the room where Sam was with Cas hot on his heels.

“Sam – move that book over there – with your mind,” Dean ordered Sam.  Sam startled, and looked like he was going to argue but bit his tongue and obliged.  Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched Sam telekinetically move the book.

“That’s . . . . Sam doesn't have a drop of demon blood right now,” Cas said, eyes still fixated on the floating book.  The book suddenly plummeted to the ground when Sam lost concentration.

“What?  But I can only move things with the blood!” Sam protested.

“The presence of demon blood in your system has a very unique energy signature.  When I first met you, I didn't realize what it meant because I didn't know the cause of the fluctuations in your powers.  But now I’d recognize it anywhere.  Your energy is completely clean,” Cas told Sam.

“But that’s impossible,” Sam said softly.

“I don’t understand.  Hasn't Sam had demon blood since Azazel?” Dean asked, his head pounding.

“Azazel’s blood had a permanent effect on Sam, yes, but the actual blood didn't remain in his system.  Contrarily, the blood of the low level demons that Sam drank just served as a temporary addictive focusing agent,” Cas told them.

“So, you’re saying that because I’m not a low level demon, my blood is affecting him like . . . ?” Dean couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence.  The idea of having anything in common with the monster who had killed his whole family made him sick.

“That’s my best guess, but I don’t know much beyond what I've already told you,” Cas said.

“So this is permanent?” Sam asked.

Dean knocked everything off the table.  He was tempted to start punching walls, but he didn't want to accidentally cause the ceiling to collapse.  Permanent.  Sam had been cursed his whole life, and Dean had just made it worse.

“Dean, stop – I made my own choice,” Sam said, concern for his brother outweighing whatever his own mixed emotions were.

“I didn't give you much of a choice,” Dean snapped.  “Cas, why aren't you angrier about all this?  Last time . . .”

“Back then, I told you what Heaven told me to say – what I was told by the same angels who engineered the apocalypse.  Those same angels used Sam’s powers to break the last seal.  I no longer trust their judgment on Sam’s powers.  If we truly believe in free will, then Sam’s powers don’t define him any more than your current shape defines you.  None of this makes you evil.  You have a choice on how to use your abilities,” Cas told them.  There was a moment of silence as they pondered his words.

“He’s right Dean,” Sam said.  “This time will be different.  I’m not an addict anymore – I can stay in control.  And nobody is out to manipulate me this time.  Azazel is dead.  Ruby is dead.  So are Zachariah, Lilith, Uriel, and everyone else who tried to use me last time.  This time it’s all on us.”

Dean swallowed.  It wasn't like he hadn't seen Sam show great amounts of self-control since after he stopped drinking demon blood.  Even though he’d initially fallen victim to Famine’s power, he’d eventually not only been able to resist him, but had actually defeated him.  Same for with Lucifer himself.  Sam had fought countless demons in the past few years, and long since had even given the glistening blood on their blades a second glance.  Sam had also shown the mental fortitude to survive the Cage with his will to keep fighting the good fight still intact, persevere through the Trials, and evict Gadreel from his body.  Dean knew that Sam had come a long way from being the snot nosed little kid that needed Dean to keep him on the straight and narrow.  But, this situation still scared the crap out of him.  It wasn't so much as a matter of trusting Sam – they just were never so lucky as to have the other shoe not drop sooner or later.

 

___

 

Once Sam had realized that Dean’s blood wasn't wearing off, he had started to suspect that Dean’s blood might be different from the blood of other demons.  He hadn't talked to Dean about his suspicions because that was all they were – suspicions.  Why freak Dean out more than he already was over something that could prove to be nothing?  Perhaps it just took longer to flush out of his system, or spending time in Hell had somehow prolonged the process.  But permanent?  Sam hadn't let himself think that yet.

Being psychic, while unpleasant at times, had never bothered Sam as much as it had Dean.  Demons having plans for him had of course terrified him, but he’d never found the powers themselves to be that freaky.  With the exception of the visions, which always smacked him out of nowhere, he had always felt in control over his powers.  Sure he recognized now how prideful he’d been last time.  He’d let himself get amped up on the rush of Ruby’s blood and the misguided cocky idea that he could singlehandedly avert the apocalypse. 

This time he had to be better.  He had to learn from his mistakes.  Sam figured that so long as he kept his pride in check and didn't seek out any more blood, he could make this into something good.  Last time he’d wanted to turn his curse into a gift for his own sake – as a way to cope with a part of him that he could never eradicate so he had to learn to live with himself.  But now the stakes were higher – Dean was going to drown himself in self-hate over this if Sam couldn't somehow prove to him that they could turn this into something good.

Only, Sam hadn't been entirely open with Dean during their talk.  Sure, everyone who had tried in the past to manipulate Sam because of his powers was now dead – but not everyone who could manipulate them now.  Sam was very worried about just how close Dean seemed to have gotten to Crowley, and Sam wouldn't put it past Crowley to be subtly manipulating Dean in ways that Dean hadn't caught on to yet.  Was it possible that Crowley had planted this seed too?

Dean was constantly turning a deaf ear whenever Sam tried to bring up the subject of Crowley, which made Sam even more worried.  Just how deeply did Crowley have his claws into Dean?  What did Crowley want with them?  Whatever it was, it was up to Sam and Cas to find a way to protect Dean from it. 

While Dean had been at the bar, Sam had confided his suspicions about Crowley to Cas.  Neither of them could come up with a sound theory on what Crowley’s end game was, but it was clear that it started with Crowley continuing to try to tempt Dean into giving in to his new demonic side.

Waiting for Kali to show up with Gabriel could take more time than they had.  So, they had come up with another plan to work on in the meantime.  An additional benefit was that keeping Dean focused on a clear goal seemed to help Dean cope.

Sam left Cas to fill Dean in on the plan once Dean had had a chance to cool off in his room.  He doubted that he could sleep right now, but he had to try.  There was always the chance that he would dream of something that could help Dean or forewarn them about future threats.


	18. They Like You

Dean normally wasn't one to retreat to his room to clear his head, but it was one of the few places where he felt less likely to be disturbed.  He didn't like how easily Crowley seemed to be finding him these days.  Dean checked the contents of his hex bags – everything was in order, so he should still be invisible to demons.  He then checked all his pockets for anything that Crowley might have planted on him – still nothing.

After a while, Dean left his room.  Being alone wasn't doing anything to clear his head, so he might as well spend the rest of the night with Cas. 

Dean peeked in Sam’s room.  Sam looked sound asleep, but even in sleep Sam didn't seem very peaceful.  His brows were furrowed, his lips drawn down into a frown, and his brooding and pensive shoulders hadn't lost any of their tension.  One of Sam’s hands was clenched into a tight fist resting on top of his heart.  Dean wanted to go over and try to get Sam to relax his grip on whatever the imaginary thing was, but decided it wasn't worth risking waking Sam over.  Sam didn't seem to be tossing and turning from a nightmare – this was just his normal tension carrying over into his sleep.  Dean couldn't help but worry about whatever his brother would see later in the night.

Cas was in the library reading through a pile of books when Dean entered the room.  Cas immediately put the book down and smiled at Dean.  Dean still wasn't quite used to being able to see the glow around Cas, and blinked slightly as he approached.

“Where would you like to go tonight Dean?” Cas asked.

“We agreed to take turns, Cas.  Your choice tonight,” Dean told him.

“I chose last night, so shouldn't . . . ,” Cas questioned.

“Just pick something Cas,” Dean said.  He really didn't think that a destination Cas had decided on based on one of Dean’s dreams should count as taking up Cas’ turn.  Fortunately Cas didn't argue, and pulled out a map of where he wanted to go.  Dean nodded and placed two fingers on Cas’ forehead.

 

___

 

“So why Australia?” Dean asked, blinking from the sudden bright sun in his eyes.  He glanced around, and noticed that they were in a pretty rural area.  There were a few farms around, but nothing that caught his interest. 

“Many insects are diurnal – they sleep at night – including bees,” Cas said.  Dean froze, noticing for the first time that one of the nearby farms had a bee yard.  Dean remembered all too clearly the time that Cas had appeared naked on the hood of the Impala, covered in bees.  When he had told Cas that he could choose any destination, this hadn't been what he’d had in mind.  Cas could really be a nature-hugging hippie sometimes – Dean just preferred it when it didn't include thousands of stingers.  Not that Dean was squeamish about insects – not even after the time he’d been attacked by swarms.  He could deal and indulge Cas a little, all the while not getting too close to any of the hives.  Dean reluctantly followed Cas over to the farm.

“You found Cain by using a spell to locate the Mark, right?” Cas asked as they walked over.  “So now that you have the Mark, you have no way to locate Cain?”

“Yeah.  He probably wouldn't help me anyway,” Dean replied.

“But he is a beekeeper?” Cas continued.  Dean stifled a groan, not liking where this was going.

“Was one, at least,” Dean told him.

“It’s a peaceful life.  He might have taken it up again after he moved.  If he did, we can find him that way,” Cas said.

“How?” Dean asked.

“Talk to the bees of course.  Their communication networks are quite vast, and their languages are sufficiently developed that they could ask around for us and locate Cain’s new hives,” Cas told him like this was somehow a completely logical conclusion.  Dean blinked.

“Talk to the bees?” Dean repeated as Cas nodded earnestly.  “You wanna play bee-whisperer and get the bees talking like a bunch of Dalmatians howling across London?”

“That’s not the type of reference you usually make,” Cas observed.

“Shut up.  I channel surf when there is nothing good on, like monster movies, gun fights, and high speed car races,” Dean said.  Cas knowing pop culture references still weirded him out.

“That is in effect what we will try to do.  We can travel around to different bee farms and start getting the word out, then check back later for any news.  Communication will of course be time consuming because bees use different frames of reference than we do, but I have learned much from observing their culture that could aid us in this task,” Cas explained.

“Us?” Dean asked hesitantly.  He was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of Cas actually talking to bees in a way that could result in actual useful information.  Sure, he’d mind melded with a dog once, but dogs seemed just a bit higher on the food chain than bees.  He really hoped that Cas wasn't going to make him drink a bee version of that nasty potion.  The thought of becoming a demon-bee hybrid made him shutter.  There was no way that that could end well.

“Well we don’t know the extent of your powers,” Cas said, ignoring the discomfort that Dean was sure showed on his face.  “Cain might have chosen to keep bees for all those years because he enjoyed their storytelling.  They really are quite imaginative little insects.  Much more so than ants.”

“Me, talk to bees?”  As crazy as all of this was sounding, it probably wasn't the weirdest thing he had ever done.

“Yes.  Bees usually communicate with dancing, but in our case it might be more effective to use low level telepathy instead,” Cas told him.  Cas got quiet, turned towards the bee hives, and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration.  A few hundred bees started flying right at them.  Dean fought the urge to run or teleport away.  Part of the swarm started landing all over Cas, and the rest headed straight for Dean.  It got more difficult to suppress the urge to panic once they started landing all over him too.

“Relax, Dean, they are friendly,” Cas said completely calmly.

“Relax?  I've got hundreds of freakin’ stingers all over me!” Dean snapped.

“Well don’t move – if they accidentally sting you, they will die,” Cas said solemnly.  Dean really didn't care if a bunch of insects died – he cared that he didn't get stung.  But with the way that they kept buzzing around him, he figured that maybe he should keep his comebacks to a minimum – he didn't want any flying in his mouth.  He focused on his breathing, and tried to ignore the crawling sensation all over his skin promising pain for a single wrong move.  The bees seemed to be settling down a bit over time.

“See Dean?  They like you,” Cas told him with a smile.  Dean wasn't convinced that any amount of the bees “liking” him would stop them from stinging him.

“How do we do this?” Dean asked.

“Gently send your thoughts and energy out to them.  It’d probably be best to start with a simple order and see if they can follow it,” Cas told him.  Dean immediately started chanting ‘get off me’ over and over in his head.  That seemed simple enough.  But no matter how many times he chanted it, varying the intensity and the phrasing, the bees seemed content to just keep crawling all over him.

“I suppose it is just up to me then,” Cas admitted reluctantly after watching Dean struggle for what seemed like a long time.  Dean breathed a sigh of relief as all the bees that were on him flew back over to Cas. 

“I’ll uh, go see if the farmer has any produce he wants to sell.  Sammy always loves farm fresh veggies,” Dean said.  He left Cas to talk with the bees.  Even though his failure made him feel a bit useless, he couldn't help but feel a bit relieved that he wouldn't have to go through that again.

 

___

 

Castiel really enjoyed talking to the bees.  It was too bad that Dean was less than enthusiastic about getting to know them, and disappointing that Dean could not learn their stories firsthand.  Humans could learn a thing or two from insects.  Still, Castiel appreciated that Dean had tried.  Dean had clenched his eyes closed in concentration as he strained to communicate with the bees.  Castiel had taken the opportunity to snap a few pictures to send to Sam, as promised.  Dean hadn't even seemed to notice.  No doubt Sam would find them amusing when he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Join my team for GISHWHES~~ \- an amazing worldwide scavenger hunt hosted by our wonderful Misha Collins (Castiel). GISHWHES is awesome and everyone should try it sometime.


	19. Reduced Urges?

“Brought breakfast – fresh from the farm,” Dean told Sam as he tossed a bag at him.

“How’d it go?” Sam asked Dean as he dug into the contents of the bag.

“Well I’m no bee-whisperer, that’s for sure,” Dean said with an eye roll.  The idea still sounded absurd to him.  He caught Sam and Cas exchanging a very amused look that didn't seem to quite match the conversation.  Had he missed something?  Dean caught Sam’s eye and raised an eyebrow at him.  Sam waived him off like it was nothing, but quickly looked away and started shoving his face full of food.  Cas just stood there with a pleased smile on his face.

“So Cas is going to travel around to different bee farms by day, and I’ll hook up with him in the evenings.  I’ll spend the days with you,” Dean continued, breaking the awkward silence.

“Okay.  I figure you’re in bad need of a hunt by now, since as far as I know you haven’t killed anything in a few days.  I think I found something, so we can head out soon,” Sam told him.

Dean pondered Sam’s words.  He hadn't killed anything since they got back from Hell two days ago, and his last kill in Hell had been at least half a day before that.  Usually his bloodlust would be screaming at him by now – but it wasn't.  He could still feel it – the need to kill was still there, but it was muffled somehow, less urgent.  What had changed?

“Dean?” Sam asked, puzzled by his silence.

“Yeah Sammy, sounds like a plan,” Dean replied, brushing aside the mystery for now.  “How’d you sleep – any dreams?”

“Nothing relevant.  It was weird – I saw part of that alternate future that Zachariah zapped you to,” Sam told him.

“What the hell?  Aren't your visions supposed to be of the future?” Dean asked.

“Technically it is still in the future – just a version that we derailed.  It wouldn't have happened until this August,” Sam reminded him.

“So what – you had to watch Lucifer kill the other me?” Dean asked with a shudder.  Add another to the list of things he never wanted Sam to see.  His brother had been traumatized enough without that particularly horrible mental image burned into his head.

“Fortunately I missed that part.  It was mostly just you talking to yourself,” Sam replied and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.  He knew that this didn't mean that they were out of the woods – Sam could still dream about that hellish moment, but at least for now he’d been spared.

“So - Rhonda Hurley?” Sam piped, with that annoying expressing he used whenever he was struggling to keep a straight face.  Dean internally groaned.  So much for sharing something with himself that only he would know – and have it stay with himself.  He might quickly loose what little privacy he had in the first place.

“Who is Rhonda . . . ,” Cas started to ask, looking intrigued.

“Never mind,” Dean told him, then flashed them both his best smirk.  “Sam’s just jealous that he can’t pull that look off the way I can.  God, from the way she was hungrily eyeing me it was like she was about to . . . .”

“I’ll get ready for the hunt,” Sam said quickly, turning red and bouncing out of his chair in a way that made Dean chuckle.  Sam was so easy.  Dean grinned at Sam’s hastily retreating back.  Cas had his head cocked to the side again, his eyes darting back and forth between the brothers.

“Pack bags – we’re driving!” Dean called after Sam.  Sam stopped in his tracks and spun around.

“What?  Why?” Sam asked.

“No way Baby is collecting dust in the garage!” Dean insisted.  “Come on – the open road is calling!”  Sam sighed, rolled his eyes, and headed off to pack a bag.  Dean wasn't fooled – he knew that Sam cared more about the Impala than he let on, even if it wasn't as strong of a bond as Dean had with her.

“So – I’ll pick you up tonight?” Dean said, turning to Cas.  He felt strangely reluctant to let the angel go, even for only a few hours, but they both had work to do.

“I’ll call you,” Cas promised.  Dean watched as Cas drove off in his pimp car to go commune with more bees.

 

___

 

“Dean – is this your sulfur?” Sam asked, kneeling down by a door frame at the crime scene and running his finger through the yellow powder.  Dean poked his head in from the other room and made a face at Sam.

“It’s not like I write my name on it,” Dean grumbled.

“Just makes it harder to tell if the missing people were taken by demons,” Sam said with a sigh.

“I don’t think so – I found some blood and hair in the vents.  That’s not a demonic M.O.” Dean replied.  Honing in on bloody remains seemed to be a lot easier as a demon than as a human.  Sam had noticed that Dean seemed to find remains faster than he used to, but hadn't commented to avoid making Dean more self-conscious than he already was.

“Well, I didn't find any EMF, so maybe ghouls?” Sam suggested grimly.  From the frown on Dean’s face, he knew that they were both remembering the Milligan case.  They never talked about Adam anymore – too much guilt there – but it was hard not to hold a grudge against the type of monster who’d eaten your half-brother.

“Possibly.  We can check out the local cemeteries and see if any stiffs have gone missing,” Dean replied, very quickly shrugging off the hint of emotion he had shown.  It was all so typically Dean, and yet something about it felt off to Sam.  He didn't quite piece it together until they were back in the Impala.

“How are you holding up, really?” Sam asked, eyeing Dean quizzically.  Dean predictably bristled at the touchy-feely question.

“I’m freakin’ fantastic,” Dean insisted.

“Right . . . . you aren't on edge, you don’t have that bloodlust look in your eyes, . . . it’s almost like your freakin’ normal, normal for you anyway, but how could that even be possible?  You haven’t killed in days,” Sam replied.

“The bloodlust is still here, Sammy.  It’s just . . . I don’t know, less overpowering right now.  I feel more in control of myself,” Dean told him.

“Yeah but how?” Sam asked.

“Time away from the First Blade, maybe?  I don’t know, it’s a gift horse, Sam!” Dean replied.

Sam sighed.  Dean may not be very interested in exploring this, but he was.  The more they understood about how to help Dean control himself, the better they could help him through this.  From what Sam had heard about Cain, Cain hadn't touched the Blade in decades by the time Dean had met him, and had been in good control of his bloodlust.  Based on that, it was possible that staying away from the Blade reduced bloodlust, but Sam wasn't convinced that that was the whole picture.

Sam regretted again that he hadn't been along when Dean and Crowley found Cain.  He wasn't sure if he would have been able to talk sense into Dean before he took on the Mark, but he would have tried.  At the very least he would have insisted on listening to Cain’s warning before Dean blindly took on something he didn't even begin to understand.  Sam knew that part of why Dean had been so reckless was because of the falling out he’d just had with Sam.  Even though Sam still felt bitter about Dean tricking him into being possessed, those feelings paled in comparison to what they were going through now.  He never should have let Dean walk away from him, and worse, he never should have been so distant from Dean in the following months.  Maybe if he had spent more time with Dean, he would have picked up on the warning signs before it was too late.

They needed to find Cain, and learn everything that he knew – and should have known before getting into this mess.  Sam hated feeling helpless on the hunt for Cain front, but he knew that he was still helping in a different way by keeping Dean focused on hunting, and trying to be supportive.  It wasn't as much as he wanted to do, but it would have to do for now.


	20. Chapter 20

Unlike angels, demons didn't have any special mojo for magically cleaning themselves off.  Dean still had to take a shower just like a human in order to rid himself off all the smells, dirt, and other stuff he’d gotten from the cemeteries and mausoleums that they had visited.  It was refreshingly normal, even if the motel showers did really suck, especially compared to the showers back at the bunker.  Dean had been half tempted to just pretend to use the motel shower, while really popping back to the bunker for a good shower with better water pressure.  But, it really kind of defeated the point of driving around and staying in crappy motels if he was just going to zip back to the bunker whenever it was convenient.  Dean knew it was a waste of his hard-scammed money to be paying for motels and gas like this, but it felt good to be on the road again.

Dean emerged from the shower to the very familiar sight of Sam reading intently on his laptop.

“I found us a new case,” Sam announced.  “Over the past few weeks three pairs of vacationing couples were found dead.  Their hearts were cut out, cut in half, frozen solid, and left next to their bodies.  The rest of their bodies were unscathed – no bruising, no tranquilizers or other drugs in their systems, nothing.”

“Okay, that might be our kind of thing,” Dean admitted.  “You’re pretty quick on the jump there, Sammy, finding a new case already.”  Dean didn't mind heading out again – he didn't get tired or achy as a demon, and he knew that Sam would probably nap off and on in the car on the way there.

“Well, even if your bloodlust isn't bad right now, I don’t want to give it the chance to get bad.  It’s probably best to stay busy,” Sam told him.  Dean sighed.  He hated it when he made his brother worry like this.  The need to kill was just feeling like a nagging whisper in the back of his mind right now – totally manageable – but he knew it probably wouldn't stay that way for too long.

“Where to then?” Dean asked.

“Keystone, South Dakota,” Sam replied, closing his laptop and getting up to start packing.  “I figure we can pull in by this evening, then start digging around in the morning.”

 

___

 

“How has the bee whispering been going?  Any leads?”  Dean asked Castiel as he appeared before him.  Castiel wished that he had more to report, but bee communication was a slow process.

“I visited two more hives today, and communicated our inquiries.  They will spread the word to other hives in the area.  I’ll check back next week,” Castiel told him.

“Well then, let’s head out.  I brought some stuff for us,” Dean said, holding up some fishing rods and a cooler full of what was probably beer and bait.

“I've never done real fishing before,” Castiel admitted.

“You've watched me do it in my dreams, and it won’t take me long to teach you the rest,” Dean assured him.  “Come on – I could use the fresh air after crawling all over the mausoleum chasing ghouls, then driving a few hundred miles to the next hunt Sam found for us.”

Castiel nodded, and Dean put two fingers on Castiel’s forehead.  Castiel missed the feeling of being able to fly himself, but having Dean transport him was the next best thing.  Castiel could almost imagine that he and Dean were both flying together.  With his clipped wings and fading Grace, Castiel felt strangely powerless next to Dean now.  Dean seemed to be taking his newfound power in stride, and was trying harder than ever to please Castiel.  Part of Castiel wanted to assure Dean again that he would never loose Castiel’s loyalty and the profound bond that they shared, but Dean always seemed to get embarrassed when he brought that up.  Castiel in his relatively powerless state could now see how Dean really felt about him in a new light.  Gone were the days when he had wondered if he was just the angel up the Winchesters’ sleeves, a tool for them to use.  Castiel was of little use to Dean now, but Dean still valued him and wanted to be with him.  Perhaps this experience could bring them closer.

Fishing with Dean was as relaxing as it had been in Dean’s dreams.  The large lake had a small old dock, but no other signs of humans.  It bore such a strong resemblance to the lakes in Dean’s dreams that Castiel could almost momentarily forget that they weren't in Dean’s head.  Dean didn't eat a lot of fish, and really couldn't cook them anyway when they were on the road, so they threw back everything that they caught.  It was very peaceful, whether they were chatting, or just sitting in contented silence.  Things just felt so easy and natural with Dean, unlike with anyone else that Castiel had ever known.  Their bond seemed deeper than just the culmination of the forces that had repeatedly pushed them together and pulled them apart.  Now, Dean seemed to trust Castiel more than he trusted himself – Dean, the man who used to not fully trust anyone but himself.  Castiel felt humbled by the faith that Dean placed in him, and strengthened his resolve to do whatever it took to save Dean.

The peaceful silence was broken when Castiel suddenly received a prayer from Sam.

“Cas?  I guess you’re out of cell range.  Listen – try to keep Dean away from any bars.  I just had a dream where Crowley found Dean . . . . and told him that he had the ability to turn humans, and possibly angels, into Knights of Hell.  Now, I’m trying to trust Dean, I really am, but I’m kind of freaking out here.  In the dream, Dean actually asked Crowley how to do it.  I hope that Dean has enough of his humanity left not to go through with it, but I can’t be sure.  Some twisted part of Dean might actually think that it could be a good thing, forcing us to join him in demonhood forever.  So – keep a close eye on Dean, and if you see Crowley, smite him before he has a chance to tell Dean any of this.  It’d probably be best if Dean never knows the full extent of his powers,” Sam told him.

Castiel felt chilled by the news.  Would Dean really try to turn him and Sam into demons?  When Castiel had fallen from Heaven, he had thought that he could fall no lower.  Apparently he was wrong.  Becoming a demon sounded unimaginably horrible, all the worse so because it would come as the result of being betrayed by the person he cared about most.  Castiel refused to believe that Dean could do that to him – demonic or not, deep down he was still Dean.  Castiel had to have faith that even in the face of temptation, Dean would do the right thing.

Dean had noticed that Castiel had heard something, and seemed to be waiting for him to tell him about it.  What should he tell Dean?  Sam seemed to think that it was best to keep Dean in the dark about this, but Castiel wasn't so sure.  If Dean insisted on blindly running off by himself again, then everything might come to pass as Sam had foreseen.  On the other hand, it was important to keep temptation away from Dean.

“Sam had a dream where Crowley approached you in a bar . . . . and something bad happened,” Castiel said vaguely.  He knew that Dean hated it when he was vague, but it couldn't be helped sometimes.

Dean regarded Castiel, and he could almost feel the wheels turning in Dean’s head.  The anger that Castiel had expected didn't seem to be coming.

“This is about my ability to turn people into Knights, isn't it,” Dean stated slowly, already knowing Castiel’s answer from his sharp intake of breath, a human trait he had picked up.  “You don’t need to worry about that Cas – I’m not going to turn Sam.  I just asked Crowley how to do it to make sure that I hadn't accidentally turned Sam by giving him my blood.  I know that I've crossed a lot of lines, but I’m not going there, I swear.”  Dean seemed so broken that Castiel couldn't help but believe him, even if the whole situation made him uneasy.  He too wanted to trust Dean, and wanted to believe that Dean could stay in control even if he wasn't fully himself anymore.  Castiel had only known Dean to break twice – once in Hell, and once when he tried to say yes to Michael.  So long as Dean didn't break now and give in to his new demonic instincts, he and Sam didn't have to fear that they would be turned into Knights too.


	21. Attempts at Protection

Sam had woken up in a cold sweat, and had spent a long time heaving in the bathroom until there was nothing left in his system.  He still found himself shaking.  He really wanted to trust Dean, but he just didn't see a way that this could end well unless they figured out a way to cure Dean soon.  Dean might be able to resist the temptation to turn Sam into a Knight of Hell for the short term, but it seemed inevitable in the long term.  Even if nothing killed Sam again, he would age and eventually die naturally (although he never really believed that he would live to old age).  Dean as a demon wouldn't age or die.  Dean had tricked Sam into being possessed by an angel just so that he wouldn't be left alone.  When faced with the possibility of an eternity alone, Dean would probably give in to the temptation to turn Sam into a demon.  After fully losing the ability to keep each other human, who knew what kind of monsters they could become?  All of the good that they had tried to do over the years could be overshadowed by endless centuries of evil.

Eventually Sam managed to pull himself together enough to pray to Castiel, desperately hoping that they could somehow keep this idea out of Dean’s head in the first place.  The sky was just starting to get lighter when Dean and Castiel popped back to the motel.

“I thought your dreams were supposed to be of the future, Sammy,” Dean said.  Sam’s blood ran cold with the realization that Dean already knew everything that Sam had hoped to keep from him.  Sam buried his face in his hands.  He might as well get fitted for his demon horns now – it was only a matter of time before Dean figured out how to get through the wards protecting the First Blade so he could turn Sam.

“Hey – come on Sam!  I’m not going to turn you into a demon!” Dean said pleadingly.

“You tricked me into being possessed by an angel,” Sam reminded him.  “How am I supposed to know what you’re capable of, just to keep me by your side just so you don’t have to be alone?”

“That was different!  You were going to let Death lock you away in isolation for all of eternity!” Dean snapped back.  He then seemed to realize that he’d said more than he meant to say, and turned away from Sam.  Sam felt things clicking into place in his brain.  Dean’s overprotectiveness had gotten much worse right after the Trials.  At the time Sam had chocked it up to the heavy toll the Trials had taken on him, his near brush with death, and in hindsight, being possessed by Gadreel.  But perhaps Dean had witnessed more of what had happened when Sam was in a comma than he had previously let on.

“I thought that you might try to sell your soul for me again, and I didn't want you to go to Hell for me again,” Sam confessed.  Resurrection always came with a price.  It wasn't so much that Sam wanted to die, but if Dean or someone else had to pay that price in order for Sam to live, then he’d rather stay dead.  From the look on Dean’s face, it was clear that Sam had guessed right and Dean had been considering selling his soul for Sam a second time.  Why couldn't Dean ever realize that his own life was just as valuable as Sam’s life?

“Death’s idea of eternal isolation for you could have been as bad as the Cage for all we know.  Stupid requests like that don’t come without a price either, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you do that to yourself,” Dean retorted bitterly.  “Heaven may be all kinds of screwed up, but when you die for real – eventually – you deserve a place in the pent house where Ash can help you reunite with everyone, and Cas can visit your other-people’s-Thanksgiving or whatever.”

“I really don’t think that was one of my top greatest hits,” Sam told him.

“Whatever,” Dean dismissed with a wave of his hand.  Dean had never been open to listening to Sam’s theory that the parts of their own heavens that they had seen had been somehow rigged by Zachariah or someone to drive a wedge between the brothers.  Sam let the matter drop for now so he could  focus on the more pressing matters at hand.

“Alright Dean – I won’t ask that of Death again, I’ll let him take me to Heaven, or wherever I end up deserving,” Sam conceded.  Dean gave him a shocked and suspicious look, like he couldn't believe that Sam had given in that easily.  Sam still wasn't convinced by Dean’s theory that Death might stick Sam in someplace as bad as the Cage, but that wasn't the point.  He had no doubt that Dean would tear up the whole universe trying to get Sam out of isolation, even if that meant trying to take on Death himself, and there was no way that that could end well for Dean.  Tangling with Death could result in worse than Dean selling his soul again.  Sam still hated the idea of Dean not being able to let him go when the time came, but the memory of Dean’s limp bloody body dying in his arms was still very fresh on his mind, along with the memory of how far Sam had been ready to go to get Dean back.  Sam shuddered at the thought of what he might have become had he not found Dean again so soon after his death.  Sam could have ended up a worse monster than he’d become in the 6 months after Mystery Spot, all for the sake of saving Dean.  The lengths that they would go for each other scared him sometimes, but he was just as guilty as Dean and he shouldn't let himself forget that.

“I mean it, Dean.  I’ll never ask Death to put me out of your reach again.  So don’t go thinking that you have to turn me into a demon to save me,” Sam pleaded. 

“I told you that I’m not going to turn you into a demon!” Dean replied.  He seemed only slightly relieved by Sam’s promise, but also still hurt that Sam wouldn't believe him.  But Sam couldn't trust Dean on this.

They were interrupted by the phone.  It was the coroner that they had visited briefly the previous day, calling to tell them that another pair of bodies had been discovered that morning, a John and Jane Doe.

 

___

 

It was only a short drive from the motel to the police station.  Sam refused Dean’s offer to stop at a diner for breakfast first.  He didn't feel the least bit hungry, and he didn't feel like sitting around a diner with Dean either.  Castiel was already gone – off to go find more bee hives, so now it was just him and Dean again.

“You look like crap, so at least go get yourself a cup of coffee,” Dean told him, pointing to a kiosk across the street from the station.  “I’ll meet you in the morgue.”  Dean seemed to sense that Sam would welcome a few minutes of space to clear his head, so he nodded and headed across the street.  He knew that he could use the coffee – he had barely slept last night, and had already been up for hours unable to shake the night off.  He felt exhausted, but badly wanted to work to distract himself from his problems.

Sam was feeling a little more focused and ready by the time he entered the police office and headed for the morgue.  To his surprise, he saw Dean quickly walking back towards him with a look on his face that filled Sam with dread.  Not only did Dean look upset by whatever he had seen, but he looked worried about the prospect of telling Sam about it, and was clearly trying to hid how bad it was.

“Sam – could you get me a donut?  I’m starving,” Dean said, obviously trying to get rid of Sam.

“You don’t eat anymore, Dean!” Sam snapped, brushing past Dean and walking quickly to the morgue.  Anything that made Dean temporarily forget he was a demon had to be big.

“Sammy wait!” Dean called after him, sounding concerned, but Sam didn't stop.  He barged into the morgue and yanked open the drawer labeled “Jane Doe.” 


	22. A Case Gets Personal

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as he stared down into the pale face of Amelia Richardson.

Shock overwhelmed Sam momentarily.  He’d lied to her, kept her out of the life so that she’d be safe.  He’d even cut all ties with her, and still she’d ended up dead by a monster’s hand, just like Jessica.  Was this his fault too?  He didn't believe in coincidences – he’d seen too much.  Somehow, this must all tie back to him.  It was his fault another one of his girlfriends was dead.  Why did everyone he ever tried to get close to have to die in some horrific way?  Even after he’d stopped being the center of Azazel and Lucifer’s plans, he still somehow destroyed the lives of everyone he cared about.

“Sammy, I've got this one,” Dean said softly, and Sam suddenly remembered that his brother was even there.  So this was what Dean must have been trying to hide from him.  Dean had been trying to protect him, again, but Dean had no right to decide what he deserved to know.  Sam had a right to know the truth.  He felt a flash of anger towards his brother.  He couldn't even blame this on Dean being a demon – human Dean pulled the same kinds of crap and never learned.

“No, Dean!  I need to find the monster that did this!  This has to be all because of me,” Sam insisted.

“If this is connected to you – and we don’t know that it is, then you need to be careful and keep a clear head.  I’ll get Cas to stay with you and back you up, but you need to stand down while I figure this out.  Don’t forget the Arachne,” Dean replied.  Dean was such a hypocrite sometimes.  Dean would never agree to stand down, but he expected Sam to do just that.  Part of Sam wanted to punch his brother.

“Then go get Cas,” Sam snapped.  As soon as Dean popped out, he made a break for the door.  There was no way that he was going to stand down, and with the way that Dean was acting, maybe he was better off working this case solo.

 

___

 

“Damn it Sam!” Dan snarled when he and Cas arrived back at the morgue.  Sam was gone, and had a 10 minute lead.  Sam still always carried his hex bags, so Dean couldn't use his new powers to track Sam that way, and Cas couldn't find Sam with the Enochian sigils on his ribs.  They would be stuck using human methods to find Sam, and no doubt Sam would make that difficult.

“Cas – let’s split up and keep an eye out for Sam while working the case.  None of the other couples seem connected to Sam, but we can’t take any chances that this could be a trap.  I’ll take Amelia and Don, you look into the first couple,” Dean told him.  He hated sending Cas out to do interviews solo, since that was still one of his weaknesses despite his great improvements, but it couldn't be helped.  Covering more ground would help them find Sam faster.  Then Dean might just have to knock his little brother out and drag him back to the bunker.

“Don’t worry Dean – we’ll find him.  Sam’s smart, and he knows it might be a trap – he’ll be fine,” Cas tried to reassure him.

 

___

 

Dean wracked his brain for everything he knew about Amelia.  He’d researched her two years ago after he’d gotten her name out of Sam, but he’d barely given her much thought since Sam had chosen him over Amelia.  The frustrating thing about dealing with vacationing couples was that everyone was staying in hotels and nobody knew anyone else.  Canvasing as proving frustrating.  He found a hotel where Amelia had a reservation, but had never shown.  He was having a hard time finding any cars registered to her either, and none of the local rental car companies had heard of the Richardsons either.  Something was definitely off about this.

If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that Amelia had never even been to this town.  Dean left messages on Sam’s phone saying as much, but Sam never picked up his phone.

The morgue called with the results of the autopsy.  None of the other bodies had been moved from where they’d been killed – except Amelia and Don.  There was also some faint bruising that suggested that their hands had been bound, also unlike the other victims.  This was starting to look more and more like it really was a trap.

Dean went back to the place where Amelia and Don’s bodies had been dumped to see if he could pick up a trail.  Humans wouldn't be able to pick up the faint scent of the path the bloody bodies had took, but to Dean it was like there were neon signs.  He easily found the small hunting cabin a quarter mile into the woods where Amelia and Don had been killed.  Dean patrolled around the cabin, but all signs of people were hours old.  It didn't look like they had come back after dumping the bodies.

Dean carefully made his way into the cabin.  It was completely empty, aside from the blood.  Surely there would be some clues in the mess, so he started to search the room.

One of the floor boards he stepped on squeaked, and he heard something that sounded like the flick of a lighter.  Before he could figure out his next move, there was suddenly fire on the floor all around him, revealing a devil’s trap.

Dean let loose a long string of swears.  He was trapped in a cabin in the woods, and it had been a few hours since he’d last checked in with Cas.  Nobody even knew where he was.  He tried his cell, but didn't get any bars.

He’d underestimated whoever had set this trap.  That person not only knew about Amelia, but had also known to use devil’s traps.  They had covered their tracks well too – Dean still had no idea who he was dealing with, but this clearly was no ordinary monster hunt.  This was personal.

Dean wasn't really worried about himself, but Sam, and possibly Cas, were in danger.

Dead didn't know if demons could pray.  He had never tried because he hadn't wanted to face the idea that his soul might be too twisted now to be able to pray.  He never even liked praying before he met Cas, but now prayer had become like a lifeline to his angel that he was about to see severed.  But, if there was any situation that warranted risking it, this was it.  He would not let Cas and Sam be caught unprepared just because he was afraid to face just how alone and twisted he really was.

 

___

 

Sam sipped another cup of coffee as he made notes about his last phone call.  He thought that there might be significance as to why all the victims were vacationing couples, and was trying to narrow down what the connection could be.  None of the locals were likely to know much about a bunch of out-of-towners, so he had been making phone calls to the friends and neighbors of the victims.  It wasn't the way that they usually did things, and he doubted that Dean would start that method very soon.  In the meantime, it kept Dean from finding him while allowing him to still work on the case.  Dean had called a bunch of times, but Sam wasn't ready yet to listen to all of his angry messages.  He’d deal with Dean later, after he’d had time to cool down and have some space.  He was trying to put off dealing with Amelia’s death too, and all the guilt that came with it.

It didn't help that he’d just heard suspicions that the second female victim might have cheated on her husband.  Sam didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but if that was the connection between the victims, then that was another reason why he might have gotten Amelia killed.  If it was some kind of spirit, they tended to see things strictly in black and white.  Being with Amelia when she thought Don was dead was probably viewed as cheating, but even if it somehow wasn't, they the one night he’d spent with her months later definitely counted.

Sam sighed, downed more gulps of coffee, and picked up the phone again.


	23. Don’t Look

Castiel was much better at his people skills, but still did not enjoy that aspect of hunting.  Retracing the steps that local police took weeks ago didn't take too long – the trail was pretty cold, and there weren't many people who had had contact with the first couple.  Castiel still worried that he wasn't thinking of the kind of questions that Dean would know to ask in these situations.  As Dean would say, he’d uncovered “bupkis” from his field work.

Castiel headed back to the station to comb through the autopsy reports and the victims’ personal effects.

Castiel had learned the hard way that knowing every discernible detail about a person’s physical body was a skill that rarely had any merits when hunting.  He decided to ignore all signs of physical illness and unusual quirks unless he noticed a pattern between the victims, which he did not.  What he did notice, however, was that there were a number of details about the Richardsons that did not match the pattern of the other victims.  They were the only ones body dumped with no identification or personal effects, and the only ones with ligature marks and (when Castiel sniffed) faint traces of some sort of drugs in their system that the coroner had missed.  It seemed like these kills had been planted to mimic the other kills.  The Winchester’s instincts seemed to be correct in thinking that this was a trap.

Thinking it would be best to team back up with Dean, Castiel tried calling him.  All of Dean’s phones kept going straight to voicemail, which made Castiel concerned.  The locals claimed that there were no cell phone black out spots in town.  Trying to hack the GPS on Dean’s phone was a bust too.  How had he managed to lose both Winchesters? 

Castiel was about to try to retrace Dean’s steps when he suddenly heard Dean’s voice.  It was not on the usual frequency used for prayers, and it was very faint and broken up with static.  He probably wouldn't have even noticed the voice at all had it been anyone but Dean.  As Castiel focused, he was able to better tune in and pick up Dean more clearly.

“. . . . not sure if you can even hear me, but I, eh, busted up my phones again, so I thought I’d give this a shot.  Sam was right – this is a trap for him, so I need you to find him and take him somewhere safe and far away from here.  Knock him out and drag him if you have to – I’m trusting you to protect him.  Watch yourself too.  Last year a lot of angel blades got left on Earth, so be careful.  I’m not sure how many of them there are, but I’ll be face to face with their leader soon, so I’ll pass on info to you afterwards.  Don’t worry about me – I’ll be fine, but I’m not coming back until they are all taken care of, and I won’t be in touch much either.  Don’t come looking for me – just get Sam and get out of here,” Dean told him.

Castiel felt chilled by Dean’s words  They didn't feel right – like Dean was hiding something from him  He couldn't shake the feeling that Dean was in trouble, and his first instinct was to try to find Dean.  The only thing that stopped him was that Dean was trusting him to look out for Sam.  He had to find Sam, who might not even know yet that this was a trap for him.

 

___

 

Sam searched through local records, trying to see if there were any old violent deaths that could be connected to the current case.  To his dismay, he had noticed that more than one couple had a history of cheating, so figured that that indeed was probably the connection. 

His phone started buzzing.  Sam checked who it was in case it was related to the case, but figured it was probably Dean again.  He was surprised it was Castiel, but didn't answer.  He really didn't like putting Castiel in the middle of things between him and Dean.

Sam found an article about a couple that had vacationed here 20 years ago, caught each other cheating, and then accidentally gave each other fatal injuries during the ensuing fight.  Yahtzee.

His phone buzzed again, and it was Castiel again.  Sam frowned, but really didn't want the distraction now that he was on to something.  A few more minutes of searching and he found out where that couple was buried.  It would be dark soon, and then he could salt and burn them.

Sam’s phone buzzed from yet another call from Castiel.  Usually it was Dean who called him obsessively, not Castiel.  Sam must really have them worried.  He sighed, and decided to pick up the phone, hoping it was really Castiel and not Dean stealing Castiel’s phone.

“Look I’m fine, will you stop . . . ,” Sam began.

“Dean is missing!” Castiel cut him off, practically yelling into the phone.  Sam’s blood ran cold.  This was the last thing he had expected.  Sure it had been a little while since Dean’s last call, but he hadn't been too worried about anything hurting Dean on this case even if it was a trap.  There wasn't much that could hurt Dean in his current state, and Sam had let himself relax a little about Dean’s physical safety on hunts.  Sam mentally kicked himself.

“Missing?  How?  What happened?” Sam demanded.

“Meet me back at the motel right now!” Castiel insisted, ignoring Sam’s questions.

Sam swore, and took off down the street.  He hadn't stolen a car, so he was on foot, but only a few blocks from the motel.  As he ran, he pulled up his voicemail to listen to the 20 messages that Dean had left him over the course of the day.  Sam winced at the angry words, but made himself listen to everything.  Dean seemed more and more sure that this was a trap, and reported on the things that he did find, but said nothing about where he was going next.  Sam knew that feeling guilty wasn't going to help him find Dean, but he hated the feeling that had he not pushed Dean away all day he might have known where Dean had been planning to go next.

 

___

 

Dean paced restlessly around the confines of the devil’s trap, wondering idly if he paced long enough if he could wear a hole in the devil’s trap and bust himself out.  No such luck so far.  He wished that there was some way that he could know if Cas had heard his prayer, and cursed himself for never having tried praying as a demon before.  As much as he hated being trapped here, it wouldn't be so bad if he knew that Sam and Cas were safe.  He wondered how long it would take before his captures noticed that he’d sprung their trap and came to meet him. 

After a while he heard some people approach the cabin.  Dean vaguely recognized two hunters that he thought were called Tim and Reggie, who were joined by a few men that Dean didn't recognize.  They seemed surprised to see Dean in the trap.

“Well, well – I was expecting Sam to be the Winchester caught in that trap, not you, Dean,” Tim said, digging a few bills out of his wallet and handing them to Reggie like they’d had some sort of bet going.  Dean stared back at them.  Apparently their intel wasn't as complete as he’d thought – they hadn't known that Dean was a demon when they had put down devil’s traps.  Although they were clearly working on incomplete information, he still needed to try to find out how much they knew, and hope that Cas could hear his prayers.

“What – my pretty face not good enough for you?  Sam doesn't swing that way either,” Dean taunted, hoping that if he got them riled up that they might let more info slip.  He got a face full of holy water for his trouble.  Dean winced at the sizzle on his skin.  That was a bit bracing, but not as bad as he had expected.  Perhaps there could be a few benefits from having developed such a high pain threshold.

“It’s all Sam’s fault that my best friend is dead!  All because he wouldn't lift a finger to help us!” Tim screamed, throwing more holy water in Dean’s face.  “So I figured, when you two started leaving a trail of sulfur on all of your hunts, that all that demon blood he was drinking must have turned him the rest of the way.  Should've figured that you were both the same kind of monster!”

Dean was furious.  Nobody talked about Sam that way!  He tried to telekinetically pull the door off its hinges so he could fling it at the hunters, but all he managed to do was get it to whip around back and forth.

“Nice try demon scum, but you aren't going anywhere!” Reggie leered at Dean.  “But you are going to tell us everything about how to find Sam – and we brought enough holy water to last all night!”

Dean laughed.  A couple of amateurs thought that they could torture information out of him?  Bring it!


	24. Searching For Traces

“You’re right,” Sam said.  “Dean wouldn't just hope that his prayer would reach you – not when he thinks our lives are on the line.  He would find another way to contact us.”  Sam wrung his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“I trust you have no intentions of running away like Dean asked?” Castiel asked.

“Of course not,” Sam scoffed.  Castiel managed a weak smile.  He could always count on the Winchesters to stubbornly throw themselves into danger for each other.  This time he was grateful for it, because he didn't want to follow Dean’s instructions either – at least not the part about not looking for him.  Castiel would always look for Dean.

“In my current state, my ability to protect you will be limited,” Castiel warned him.  He hadn't mentioned it yet, but Castiel was already starting to feel his recharged stolen grace slowly starting to fade again.  So long as he didn't use it much, he should still have a few more months, but if he had to heal anyone it could shorten his time remaining considerably.  Castiel knew that Dean would be furious with him for not knocking Sam out and taking him back to the bunker, but Castiel thought that they had a better chance at finding and helping Dean if he worked with Sam.  Dean would forgive him so long as he kept anyone from killing Sam.  Castiel knew that without his wings, he wouldn't be able to resurrect Sam if his soul entered the Veil, but he tried not to think about that.  They had faced worse odds before.

“We’ll be careful,” Sam said somewhat dismissively, his own safety never his priority.  “Whoever set this trap had to have known a lot about the ghosts that did the original killings.  I found out where they are buried – we can start there.”

 

___

 

“Looks like we weren't the first to come after these ghosts,” Sam said.  The dirt on top of the graves in front of him had been freshly disturbed.  “I’d say that someone dug these up a few days ago.”

“I can still smell the residue from the fire – the corpses were destroyed before you arrived in this town,” Castiel reported.  Sam sighed.  Trying to interrogate the ghosts about the copycat killers was out of the question now.  It also meant that he’d wasted money on a shovel, since all of their equipment was in the Impala (which was wherever Dean left her before he disappeared).

“Well it could have messed up their trap if the original ghosts were still killing.  But I don’t see any traces of sulfur, so this probably wasn't demons.  Perhaps angels or hunters?” Sam questioned.

“Dean’s words implied that it wasn't angels,” Castiel replied.  He frowned as his eyes darted around the ground surrounding the graves, like he was looking at something only he could see.  Castiel walked over a few steps, then deliberately stepped down on a special spot.  It didn't look any different to Sam, but he trusted Castiel and braced himself for whatever was about to happen.  Sam still jumped as small flames quickly encircled them, burning a devil’s trap into the ground around the graves.

“They know he’s a demon!” Sam gasped.  “If Dean is trapped in one of these, then that would explain why he can’t get to a phone!”  How had anyone even found out about Dean’s condition?  They had tried very hard to keep it a secret – not even their few trusted allies like Garth or Jody knew.  Sam cringed at the thought of his brother trapped in a devil’s trap, with hunters doing who-knows-what to him.  He quickly tried to brush away the images his mind was creating – thinking about that wouldn't help.

“Have you had any visions?” Castiel asked.

“They are still only happening when I’m asleep, and I haven’t seen anything about this,” Sam lamented.  His visions were one of his least favorite powers, due to how powerless he felt over them.  He was still completely at their whim and mercy.  It didn't help that they weren't as vivid and detailed as they had been the first time around.

“But they are still always about Dean?” Castiel prodded.

“You think I should try to dream about him for clues?” Sam questioned.  He didn't like the idea of such a passive plan of action, especially one that he didn't feel very confident about actually working.  Of course, that assumed that he could even fall asleep, which was the last thing he felt able to do right now.  Still, trying to canvas in the middle of the night, and trying to talk to people who might have seen Dean, wasn't exactly a stellar plan either – especially since it was starting to rain.

“I’ll watch over you,” Castiel told him.  “And I’ll look through security footage to see if we can narrow our search parameters.”  Sam twitched slightly at the words – Dean was right about that being a little creepy, but with a pang of sadness he thought about how much he wanted Castiel to be saying that to a human Dean once again.

 

___

 

Sam groaned as he started to regain consciousness.  The events of the previous day slammed into him at full force, and he cringed.  He lay still for a moment, trying to wrack his brain for any traces of whatever dreams he might have had.  It had taken a heavy dosage of sleeping pills to knock him out – between the adrenaline and the countless cups of coffee he had consumed over the course of the day, he’d been very wired.  But perhaps so many sleeping pills hadn't been the way to go – try as he might, Sam couldn't remember any dreams at all from the night.  Sam pounded his pillow in frustration.  He really hated this power sometimes.  Dean was out there suffering somewhere, and Sam couldn't even see him to find out where he was or what was happening.

“I surmise that you didn't see anything of value?” Castiel asked redundantly.  Sam couldn't help but glare.  His head was pounding from all the abuse he was giving his body, and part of him desperately wanted to just go back to sleep, but that wasn't going to happen.  Sam glanced at the clock and saw that he’d been out for about 6 hours – what an awful waste of time.  He cursed himself for having agreed to that plan.  Castiel seemed to be ignoring Sam’s pissy mood, which somehow made him feel more annoyed.  Sam dragged his protesting body out of bed and walked over to see what Castiel was looking at on the laptop.

“The last place I found video of the Impala was along this road on the edge of town,” Castiel told him, pointing on a map.

“That’s right near where Amelia’s body was found,” Sam replied.  “Good work Cas.”  He quickly threw on some clothes and headed for the door.

“You should eat something,” Castiel told firmly.  Sam glared at him again.  Castiel’s nagging was getting as bad as Dean’s some days.  Castiel had obviously taken Dean’s last words about watching out for Sam to heart.  Sam really didn't feel like eating, despite the grumblings of his stomach, but he knew that Castiel was right.  He hadn't eaten hardly anything at all for over 24 hours.  He grabbed a fistful of snack bars out of his bag.

“I’ll eat on the way – let’s go!”

 

___

 

It didn't take too long to find the Impala parked near where the bodies of the Richardsons had been found.  Castiel and Sam walked around the area looking for clues, careful to stay within each other’s sight in case there was an ambush or another trap.  The bodies had been dumped in the parking lot of a small bed and breakfast surrounded by forests.  The elderly lady who owned the bed and breakfast had seen Dean enter the woods yesterday afternoon, but she hadn't seen him come back out, or caught sight of any other people in the area.  The only current guests at the bed and breakfast were a family with three young screaming kids, and they hadn't seen anything at all.  Sam hadn't thought that any of them had seemed suspicious, and Castiel was inclined to agree.

“Anything?” Sam asked Castiel again as they searched the woods.  Castiel sighed.  While he was good at picking up on traces of things often overlooked by humans, he was generally inexperienced in this sort of tracking.

“The rain last night washed away footprints and whatever traces of sulfur Dean might have left behind,” Castiel told him.  “I cannot discern the path that he took.”

“But these woods stretch on for miles – it could take days to find him if we have to search them all!” Sam protested, wringing his hands through his hair again in frustration.  Castiel knew he was right – they needed a direction.  Suddenly he had an idea.

“Sam – cover your ears!” Castiel ordered.


	25. Revealing a New Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hunters who have Dean (Tim and Reggie) appeared _way back_ in season 5 episode 3 "Free to Be You and Me"

Dean loved the way that his black eyes terrified the foolish hunters who had trapped him.  He knew that it wasn't just because he was a demon – he was a demon that they had once known as a human.  Seeing him like this seemed to challenge their worldview. 

Dean wasn't about to make it any easier for them either.  He’d quickly learned to suppress even the slightest shudder from the holy water they were repeatedly throwing in his face.  Sure, it still stung a little, but it was worth it to see the looks of horror on their faces when he appeared immune to their only weapon against him.  The hunters weren't exactly creative with their use of holy water either – they just kept repeatedly splashing him in the face with it.  Humans could be so boring sometimes.  Were the tables turned, Dean could show them dozens of new uses for holy water that could make even the most hardened of demons scream in agony.

As it was, Dean found himself fantasizing about all the things that he would do to the hunters once he figured out a way out of this mess.  The sounds of them screaming would be like music.  He felt torn between the urge to brutally rip them apart into bloody smears, or the challenge of taking his time to see just how long he could keep a living human victim alive while they suffered unbearable agony at his hand.  Dean imagined all the different ways that he could destroy the hunters, vaguely aware that he was grinning like a mad man as the images danced in his mind.  He was so enthralled by the idea of painting everything in their blood that he almost didn't notice when the humans stopped throwing holy water in his face.  They were just standing there, looking at each other in shock and terror like they had no idea what to do next.

“Is that really the best you can do?” Dean taunted.  “Remind me to hook you up with some real teachers once you get down to the Pit, because believe me, that’s where you are going.  I've got friends in low places.”  If Crowley could drag Bobby to Hell, then surely he could manage a few one-way tickets for these idiots, no matter what good they might have accomplished as hunters.

That earned the expected reaction of more holy water in Dean’s face.  Dean cackled with glee.  The delicious smell of their fear was getting stronger by the minute.  He had never realized just how good it could feel to scare the crap out of people.  Their fear was so wonderful it was almost intoxicating.  He wanted more.

“If you think this is fun, just wait until you get to the Pit . . . ,” Dean started regaling the group of hunters (between splashes of holy water) with stories of some of the atrocities he had seen down there.  He fondly remembered all the good times he’d had in Hell once he’d gotten off his high horse and joined the fun.  He’d made Alastair proud with his creativity and versatility, and quickly become the envy of the entire school. 

The stories seemed to be having the desired effect on the humans – they were visibly shaking and crossing themselves, muttering prayers under their breath.  One of them had lost control of his bladder too.  These hunters were a joke!  Dean wondered if he could rattle any of them enough to get them to accidentally step over the line in the devil’s trap.  If he could get a hold of some fresh human blood, then he could place a call to Hell and get some backup to spring him from this trap.

“Maybe we should just send this monster back to Hell where he belongs,” Reggie suggested, looking exhausted and scarred to even be in the same room as Dean.  “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus . . . “  Dean couldn’t completely suppress his reaction to the pain that coursed through his body, and felt himself twitch and shudder.  It was worse pain than the holy water had been, spread out over his entire being, but not nearly as strong as it had been the time he had accidentally started to exorcize himself.  The idea of going back to the homey fires of Hell didn’t bother him, but Dean didn’t like the idea of leaving behind unfinished business, or letting anyone think that they had gotten the best of him.  He wondered how fast he could get back up here and finish the hunters off, perhaps even wearing one of them while he did his dirty work.

“. . . . audi nos!” Reggie finished triumphantly.  Dean expected to find himself expelled from his meatsuit and hurled back to Hell.  Instead, the Mark of Cain burned white hot on his arm, and Dean could feel it painfully tethering him to his meatsuit.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  Silence filled the room, the looks of horror being renewed on all of the hunters’ faces.

“Even Hell is no match for a thing like me!” Dean taunted with a smirk.  The humans looked at a complete loss at what to do with him.

Suddenly all the hunters plastered their hands against their ears, crying out in pain and terror, and falling to their knees.  Dean didn't need to see the visual to realize that an angel was speaking in his true voice.  What startled him was that this time he didn't perceive this voice as some sort of ear-splitting, high pitched whine – he was hearing it as an actual voice.

 _Cas_.  Even though the voice sounded different from the voice Dean had always heard coming out of Cas’ vessel, this voice still somehow sounded like Cas to him (even if the words hadn't given him away).  It was instantly familiar in a way that he couldn't describe.  He was filled with awe at the stunningly beautiful voice that was a part of Cas that Dean had never seen before, and yet recognized so completely.  Dean’s maniac grin softened a little as he listened to Cas.  The fear and desperation in Cas’ voice was apparent, but his voice was still strangely beautiful with a depth to it that took Dean by surprise.  Being a demon had its perks if he could now listen to Cas like this.

“ **DEAN!  Where are you?  I heard your prayer, and we found the Impala so we are not far from you.  We know that these hunters put devil’s traps everywhere.  Just tell us where you are and we can let you out** ,” Cas yelled in his true voice.  Dean rolled his eyes, and prayed back to Cas.

“Damn it Cas I told you and Sam to get out of here!  Don’t you think I can manage a few lousy hunters by myself?  I’ll make an example of them so that no humans will ever bother us again,” Dean prayed with a smirk.  Cas and Sam not obeying his orders didn't seem to bother him as much as he’d thought it would.  He dismissed that thought, thinking it probably was because he’d since found out just how pathetic his captors really were.

“ **Dean!  Let us help you!** ” Cas yelled back.  The one human who had tried to pick himself up off the floor while Dean had been praying immediately clasped his hands back to his ears and collapsed again as soon as Cas started speaking.  The others continued to cower and moan in pain.  Dean laughed at the sight.

“Keep an eye out for any friends they might have.  Oh, and they think Sammy is a demon too,” Dean prayed to Cas.

 

___

 

Castiel couldn't repress a shudder after talking to Dean.  If he had thought that hearing Dean’s voice again would be a relief, he was wrong.  There was a fear gripping his chest that was very overwhelming.  Castiel motioned to Sam that it was safe to uncover his ears, and started walking so quickly that Sam had to struggle to keep up even with his longer legs.  Even though Dean hadn't said any information about where he was, Castiel had been able to triangulate his location based on where the prayer signal was coming from.

“What happened?” Sam asked, speaking in that slightly loud way that humans used when their ears were still ringing.  He looked like he was trying not to freak out from Castiel’s reaction to the conversation with Dean, and Castiel knew that what he had to share would only worry Sam more.  Still, better for Sam to brace himself for what he might see when they reached Dean.

“Dean has been praying on frequencies that are getting further and further away from the normal prayer frequencies.  I can barely even . . . ,” Castiel couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence.  He urged his legs to move faster, but it was difficult with some of the undergrowth.  It was hard to tell distance with angel radio, since that normally wasn't an important factor for angels, but he knew that Dean couldn't be too far away if he had heard Castiel’s voice.  Although his true voice had a much broader range than a human voice, it still had its limits.

“You’re saying that Dean is becoming more demonic?” Sam asked in horror.  They both had the shared concern that even if they saved Dean from his captors, could they save Dean from himself?

“The hunters think that you are also a demon,” was all that Castiel could bring himself to reply.  He wasn't sure if that tidbit could be used to their advantage or not, but it was the one piece of information that Dean had specifically mentioned, so he passed it on.  Sam and Castiel saved their breath for their race through the woods.


	26. Darkness Unleashed

A small hunting cabin came into view, the sound of muffled voices inside it carried in the quiet woods.  Sam and Castiel silently moved towards it as quickly as they could without being too reckless – they stayed on guard for any traps or ambushes, but didn't see anything.  Bracing himself for what he might find, Sam kicked in the door and charged in with his gun raised, Castiel hot on his heels and armed with his angel blade.

All Sam could see was red since he caught a glimpse of his brother snared in a devil’s trap, face contorted into a black-eyed demonic grin that would forever haunt Sam’s dreams.

The group of hunters inside seemed slightly caught off guard at Sam and Castiel’s sudden appearance, but they quickly began to attack.  A few of the hunters pointlessly threw buckets of holy water in Sam’s face, acting shocked when it didn't even faze him.  One of the hunters (Reggie?) reached for his gun, but Sam shot him dead without the slightest hesitation.  Sam didn't spare a thought for any of the hunters that he recognized – they had hurt his brother and killed Amelia, and that trumped anything in the past.  They may be physically human, but their actions made them monsters to him.  He was vaguely aware of Castiel parrying blows from other hunters behind him.

An enraged war cry came from Sam’s left, and the next thing he knew one of the hunters had tackled him into the devil’s trap.  Perhaps he thought that he could get Sam trapped too, but in the heat of the moment he hadn't thought his actions through.  As the hunter raised his fist to start pounding Sam’s face, he suddenly found his arm detached from his body.  The hunter screamed in agony and terror when he realized that he had thrust himself into the range of an enraged Dean Winchester.

Sam looked away, but he couldn't block out the screams, the sounds of flesh being torn apart, and the spray of warm blood.  Flashbacks of when Dean had killed Abaddon rushed through Sam’s mind.  This was worse.  At least Abaddon had mostly ended up in one piece.  From the sound of things, Dean was dismembering the hunter with his bare hands.  Dean was acting just like some of the things that they hunted – and it terrified Sam to his core.

Everything suddenly grew quiet, and Sam realized that he had scrunched his eyes closed.  Opening his eyes, he saw that Dean was looking down at him.  Dean’s eyes were still pitch black and brimming with bloodlust, but he extended his still bloody hand towards Sam, offering him a hand to pull himself off the floor.  Sam didn't take the hand offered, but pushed himself up.  Glancing around the room, he saw that Castiel had rendered two of the hunters unconscious – the rest had fled into the woods when they saw what Dean was doing.  Castiel stood still, staring at Dean in shock.

Dean didn't say a word, but he didn't have to – Sam knew that he wanted Sam to let him out so that he could finish off the fleeing hunters.  Sam swallowed and hesitated for a brief second.  Even after everything that those hunters had done, he wasn't sure they deserved to go out so violently as whatever Dean had planned.  Sam also didn't like the idea of letting Dean follow up on his demonic instincts.  At least Dean seemed to have enough control over his bloodlust to not attack Sam – perhaps part of his brutality earlier had even been because that hunter had attacked Sam.

Sam reached for his gun, which had been knocked out of his hand when he had been tackled.  Trying to keep his hand steady, Sam shot a hole in the devil’s trap.  Dean moved faster than Sam had ever seen him move, and he had no doubt that none of the remaining hunters stood a chance.

 

___

 

It had been a long time since Castiel had seen Dean be that brutal.  He had seen Dean do that and worse before – back when he had journeyed to Hell to rescue Dean.  Still, despite the conditions of Hell and the atrocities he was being forced to commit there, Dean’s soul had still been mostly human – and shining with a latent goodness and righteousness that had made Castiel pause.  His soul should not have still been so good after so long in the depths of Hell.  Castiel’s fascination with Dean had begun there, when seeing that light in one of the darkest parts of the Pit.  Castiel had never before felt such a great sense of purpose as when he had raised Dean from perdition.

Dean had come a long way since then.  Although the scars of Hell could never fully disappear, he’d mostly been able to revert back to the man he’d been before – a hero, not someone who relished in the pain of others.  Castiel was sure that Dean didn't remember it, but Castiel had helped him start on the road to spiritual recovery while he was resurrecting him.  Perhaps he could do it again now.

Castiel was interrupted from his thoughts by a voice coming through on angel radio.

“God and all the angels – please save me from the demon Dean Winchester!”

One of Castiel’s worse fears was coming true.  All of their problems had just become much more complicated.  Castiel wearily turned towards the shell-shocked Sam, reluctant to give him more bad news.

“Sam – one of the hunters sent out an open prayer.  The host of Heaven now all know that Dean is a demon,” Castiel announced.

 

___

 

“Sir – the phone call you've been expecting,” Crowley’s hot secretary of the week told him.  Crowley had to admit – cell phones were pretty useful.  They were much more convenient than the more traditional communication method of slicing open someone’s throat, albeit a lot less fun.  Crowley accepted the phone, then waiting until his secretary had left and he was alone before he began speaking.

“Miss me already, darling?” Crowley asked.

“Your theory was correct,” the voice on the other end told him.  “The influence of Sam Winchester and Castiel is making Dean Winchester keep more of his humanity.  Remove them from the picture, and his true nature starts coming out.”

“Excellent – and the human pawns?” Crowley prompted.

“They never suspected that I helped them find those breadcrumbs, or realized what I really am.  Even if Dean Winchester interrogates them, he should not be able to learn anything.  However – one of the hunters alerted all the angels to the fact that Dean Winchester is alive and a demon.  That should put pressure on the Winchesters,” the voice replied.

“I can find a way to work that to my advantage,” Crowley asserted confidently.  He had barely hung up the phone before his secretary poked her head through the door again.

“Dean Winchester is here to see you,” she announced.  But Dean clearly had no interest in waiting around for introductions.  He pushed past her and swaggered in like he owned the joint.  The difference in him since the last time Crowley had seen him was striking – he looked completely relaxed and carefree, perhaps even enjoying himself.  It was exactly what Crowley had been hoping for.

“Dean!  And here I thought you were playing hard to get,” Crowley greeted him, clasping him on the shoulder.  Dean shivered slightly at the contact, and shot Crowley a mildly puzzled look like he could tell that Crowley had just done something.  “Just a little gift to help you the next time you take your boyfriend on a date overseas.”  Crowley waved his hand dismissively, and was pleasantly surprised when Dean just shrugged it off without suspicion.  He must really be on a great post-slaughter high.  It was difficult for Crowley to suppress his smirk.  Perhaps he finally had earned Dean Winchester’s trust.  Not that he deserved it of course.  But Crowley still had not blatantly lied to Dean since he tricked him into taking on the Mark of Cain.

“I just ganked a few hunters that were after me and Sammy – mind giving them the express pass to Hell?” Dean asked, getting straight back to business.

“Consider it done.  Shall I have my chef bring out some of Hell’s finest delicacies for you?” Crowley replied.

“Nah – I should be getting back,” Dean replied, not even sounding tempted.  “See ya Crowley.”

Crowley bit back his disappointment that Dean wasn't yet demonic enough to even be willing to try, let alone enjoy, his favorite baby-uvula muffins.  Dean was also still stubbornly clinging to his loyalty to his brother and his angel.  But perhaps that would change with the next step in his scheme.


	27. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything in bold is spoken in Castiel's true voice.

Dean easily found Cas, who was waiting for him outside the hunting cabin.  Cas looked more stoic and forcibly composed than Dean had seen him in a long time.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked.  “He doesn't have to worry – there is no one else gunning for him.”  He’d made sure of that, torturing every last scrap of information from the hunters.

“He said something about something he had to do back at the bunker,” Cas replied.  Dean smirked.

“Little Sammy isn't afraid of me now, is he?” Dean said with a bit of a laugh, finding himself not really caring that much.  “’Cause I gotta tell you Cas – letting my true self out like that felt awesome.  I never realized how exhausting it was to pretend to be human all the time.  How do you do it?”

“ **This isn't your true self!** ” Cas boomed in his true voice.  Dean had to admit that Cas looking flustered like that was kind of hot.  But he didn't want to argue true forms with the angel.  He was what he was, and sooner or later Cas would have to come to accept that.

“Ironic, isn't it, how me turning into a demon lets me hear your true voice for the first time?  Maybe we’re not all that different,” Dean said.  Angels might be more powerful than the average demon, and certainly more self-righteous, but in the end they too spilled oceans of blood.

“ **This isn't the first time you've heard my true voice** ,” Cas told him.

“I mean when you didn't burst my ears,” Dean replied with an eye roll, the effect of which was somewhat muted with his black eyes.  But he didn't want to flick back to his green eyes just yet.

“ **No – I spoke to you as I raised you from perdition.  In soul form, you could understand me clearly** ,” Cas revealed.  “ **It is why I suspected you’d still be able to once I restored you to your body.  Besides, most vessels usually can**.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Dean admitted softly, so absorbed in the news that he didn't notice his eyes flick back to green.  He recalled torturing another faceless soul one second, then finding himself in that pine box the next second.  He’d always assumed that the process had been instantaneous from his point of view, and couldn't believe that in all these years he’d never asked Cas about it.

“ **Generally, resurrections wipe your short-term memory, which is why you only remember one of your trips to Heaven.  Unfortunately, there was no way to wipe 40 years of Hell from your memory, although I wish I could relieve you of that burden** ,” Cas confessed.

“I deserve that burden, Cas!  After what I did . . . ,” Dean found the words caught in his throat.  Where he had been so carefree moments before, he now felt the weight of the world start to descend upon his shoulders again.  It was like he was coming down from a high.

“ **It wasn't your fault Dean** ,” Cas told him, his normally booming true voice transformed into a whisper.

“You’re doing something to me now, aren't you?” Dean whispered back, putting the pieces together from his own rapidly changing feelings and Cas’ continued use of his true voice.

“ **When I found you in Hell, your bloodlust was strong, and you saw yourself as a monster who belonged in Hell** ,” Cas told him, with more emotion in his voice than Dean had heard in a long time.  “ **But as I talked to you, it seemed to help you remember who you are.  By the time I resurrected you, some kind of spiritual healing seemed to have taken place, even if you lost your memory of it**.”

Dean thought back to when he’d first crawled out of his grave.  He hadn't felt any bloodlust – only the bewilderment of being alive and free again, and the strong urge to find Sam.  It had been the least of his worries at the time, and he had mostly attributed the change to shock and his newfound lease on life.

“So now your voice is, what?  Taking the edge off my demonic instincts?  I don’t know, man.  I felt so pure and completely free and at home in my own skin, but now . . . .”  Dean’s perspective on what he had just done was shifting.  What had felt so right and good earlier, was now causing a sense of horror to slowly start seeping through him. 

“ **That feeling was an illusion, Dean** ,” Cas told him.  “ **All I can do is remind you of who you really are, and encourage you to keep fighting for that, even if it no longer feels real to you.  The rest is up to you**.”

Dean swallowed, Cas’ words reminding him of something that Ruby had once told him a long time ago: “That's what Hell is – forgetting what you are.”  It was truer than he ever wanted to believe.  Everything that he was going through, it was all disconnecting him from who he used to be.  Dean was forgetting who he was, and losing faith that he could still be that person.  All of his thoughts and feelings from his old life were threatening to slip away from him.

After Dean had first come back from Hell, he had felt disjointed and had some difficulty in reconnecting to some parts of his old life.  He had almost forgotten some things, like how he used to feel about the Impala.  But now, Dean was struggling to remember why a hunk of metal and leather on wheels was so important to him.  Listening to Cas’ true voice may be helping him recover from his long night of torture, but he could still feel how bits of himself were slipping away.

“How can I do that, Cas?  I don’t know if the ‘man I really was’ still even exists.  What am I supposed to do – keep going through the motions and pretend to be human?” Dean searched Cas’ eyes for answers that he knew he wouldn't find.  “How do you do it – pretend to be human when you aren't?”  Dean repeated his earlier question even though he wasn't sure how it could translate to his own situation.  Cas bit his lip as he pondered how to answer Dean’s question.

“ **Before I ever experienced being human, I generally found humans to be bizarre and confusing creatures, despite my millennia of watching over them.  Upon taking a vessel, I took most of my queues from you as to how to behave, even though I quite frankly understood very little of it for a long time.  You also awakened in me new thoughts and emotions that were forbidden to angels, so that I found myself undergoing a permanent transformation.  In my case, my true self became more human through our time together, and I like to think that I've become better for it** ,” Cas told him with a small smile curling on his lips.  “ **Still, it wasn't until I lost my grace and became human that I feel like I came to truly understand the human experience.  Part of me will always miss that – being human.  Even though I am no longer human, I remind myself of what I learned every day.  I understand why humans are so special, and I want to retain that part of myself that was able to become that.  But even if I wanted to return to being a full angel, I don’t think I could.  I've changed too much.  Even this . . . . body now feels almost as natural as my true form**.”

Dean pondered Cas’ unusually long answer.  He recognized how Cas had permanently changed as a result of his human experiences (for the better, in Dean’s opinion).  It did make Dean wonder though – if Dean succeeded in becoming human again – just how much would the experience of being a demon permanently change him?  Cas’ continued emphasis on holding on to memories and experiences also struck a chord with Dean.  He remembered how when Cas had returned from being gone for a year (while Dean had been with Lisa), Cas had been out of touch with all things human because he hadn't been actively trying to stay connected to it.  Dean wondered if the reverse was true now – was Cas slowly losing touch with whatever his true angelic form was?

“Do you think that in my current state I’d be able to perceive your true form without losing my eyes?” Dean asked, trying not to think about the time he’d helplessly watched flames consume Pamela’s eyes.

“ **Perhaps a miniature version – nothing that could be seen over the tree tops.  With your decreased vulnerability, it is probably safe** ,” Cas replied with a smile.  _Probably_.  Didn't that word just fill Dean with comfort.  He swallowed and nodded.  This wasn't the riskiest thing he’d ever done, and he didn't want to pass up the opportunity to understand Cas in a new way.

Cas closed his eyes in concentration.  As Dean watched, the glow around Cas’ vessel grew brighter and expanded until the vessel could no longer be seen.  Streams of light emaciated outward, dominated by pure white and an electric blue that reminded Dean of Cas’ eyes.  The light seemed to form various shapes, but everything kept constantly shifting when Cas moved.  Dean suddenly recalled how Cas had once described himself as a “multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent” and got it.  Cas’ true form existed in more dimensions than the three dimensions he was capable of seeing at once.  Different dimensions of Cas were shifting in and out of his limited perception.

Complete awe.  There really were no words to describe how it felt to see Cas like this.  Cas just might be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen – a thought that was too cheesy for his liking, but Dean couldn't quite squash it.  Most striking was Cas’ true face.  As Dean met his eyes, he felt that the connection between them was just as strong as ever, no matter what form either of them was in.  Perhaps it was even stronger now that Dean could see such an essential and personal layer of Cas.

Dean could tell that Cas was smiling at him, and Dean smiled back – the most genuine smile he’d had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas' true voice is not a panacea, and has limits as to how much it can help Dean stay less-demonic.


	28. Exploring New Gifts

Sam’s long drive back to the bunker was mostly a hazy blur, done completely in mental auto-pilot mode.  But the external peace was juxtaposed with a raging turmoil in his heart.  He remembered Tim and Reggie, and how they had lost one of their best friends because, at the time, Sam had been in no condition to agree to their pleas for help.  When they had later attacked him for it, Sam had done the “right” thing and let them live.  Now Amelia was dead, and Dean . . . . how much was Dean really Dean anymore?  Sam wasn't sorry that Tim, Reggie, and their other hunter friends were now dead, but the grief and guilt over what had happened was nearly overwhelming.

Sam had never been deeply in love with Amelia, not the way that he had been with Jessica.  But during one of the darkest times in each of their lives, Sam and Amelia had been what each other had needed.  She’d helped him figure out how to keep going even after he’d lost everyone.  Sam would always care for her and be grateful for everything that she had done for him.  He only wished that he had been able to repay her in some other way besides destroying her life.

As for Dean, Sam felt like he had been slowly watching his brother slip away ever since they’d expelled Gadreel from Sam’s body.  At first Dean had pushed Sam away, then he’d pushed Dean away, and now Sam felt helpless to stop the real Dean from eroding away to reveal a demonic form that he barely even recognized as his brother.  The many times he had watched Dean die had been horrible, but this – this was a new level of horror that he’d previously been unable to imagine.  Dean had warned him that he was turning into something he didn't want to be, but Sam felt powerless to stop it.

But he couldn't give up.  Regardless of whatever his personal feelings were at the moment, he had to stow his baggage and find a way to be there for Dean again.  If he pushed his brother away now, he might lose the last slivers of whatever was left of the real Dean.

Sam had a new plan.  It was something that he should have done 10 years ago, but Dean had been so adamantly against it that Sam had respected his wishes and not gone down that road.  None of that mattered now – Sam was willing to do whatever it took to help Dean.  He needed to face his psychic visions head on and figure out a way to gain some control over them.  It wasn't enough to get random flashes from Dean’s life past and future – he needed to get specific flashes of information that could help him, like where to find Cain and Gabriel.

There were many books in the bunker’s archives on lucid dreaming and learning to control dreams.  Sam’s theory was that if he could gain more awareness and control while he was in his dreams, then maybe he could direct his dreams towards what and when he wanted to find out about.  He read about things like how to teach the brain to value clear distinct memories from dreams, such as by keeping a dream journal, and the importance of having a clear mind before going to sleep.  This was going to be especially difficult with all of his strong emotions right now, and Sam knew that it would probably take at least a couple of nights to start seeing results.  He decided to take up a nightly meditation practice to clear his head and set his intentions for his dreams.

 

___

 

Castiel felt pleased that not only could Dean now see his true form, but he had taken it so incredibly well.  For a long time, Castiel had felt a kind of sadness because of the limits to how much of himself he could share with Dean.  Dean, who he knew so well, and yet could not return the favor.  Even if Dean could probably never fully comprehend all that Castiel was, the light in Dean’s eyes had shown just how much insight their brief moment together had given him.  Castiel had felt exposed in a way that he had never felt by being in his true form around his brothers and sisters, but Dean hadn't withdrawn from a form that must have felt very strange to him.  Instead Castiel had felt a sense of peace and acceptance that led to a joy in his strengthened bond with Dean.

He would have liked to have stayed in the woods with Dean longer, but since the other angels had heard the prayer revealing Dean, he knew that angels could start coming to search the woods for Dean.  It was in their best interests to never stay in one place for too long.  Castiel wasn't certain what intentions his siblings might have for Dean, but he didn't want to take any chances.  Dean suggested that they go hit up a bar, and Castiel agreed.  It was still too early for most bars in America, so Dean zapped them to London.  It was nice to see Dean in such a good mood, the tension from earlier mostly forgotten about or repressed.

Castiel tried not to mind too much when a pretty brunette came over and started flirting with Dean.  It was practically inevitable in any bar they ever visited.  He tried to remind himself that normalcy was good for Dean, and would help him stay connected with his old life.  But then Castiel tilted his head in confusion when he heard something unexpected.

“Dean – I didn't know that you spoke French!” Castiel exclaimed when he realized that Dean and the girl were both conversing in French.

“What?  No, I don’t speak French, Cas.  Sammy knows some Spanish, but the only foreign language I know is odd bits of Latin,” Dean responded distractedly in fluent French.  The French girl giggled, but Dean didn't seem to get what was so funny.

“Dean – we are speaking French now,” Castiel told him.

“This is French?” Dean asked.  He looked completely bewildered, almost like he was waiting for Castiel to tell him he was joking.

“Do you speak other languages too?” Castiel asked, switching to Bulgarian.

“No!  Come on Cas, quit fooling around!  This all sounds like English to me,” Dean replied in Bulgarian without missing a beat.

“It’s not English Dean.  You've switched from French, to Bulgarian, and now to Mandarin effortlessly,” Castiel told him in Mandarin.

“But that’s ridiculous!  How could I . . . ?” Dean started in Mandarin, then stopped as his eyes grew wide and pieces started fitting together in his mind.  “Crowley!  I felt something when he touched my arm earlier.  He said something about the next time I took my bo- . . . er, something that would be useful for future overseas trips.”  The French girl was glancing back and forth between Dean and Castiel.  When she realized that she had been completely forgotten about, she left in a huff.  Dean didn't seem to notice.

“Crowley must be planning something,” Castiel switched back to the comforting tones of Enochian.

“I don’t know – how could me spouting off in different languages be used in some nefarious scheme?  More likely it’s just another one of his attempts to woo me with gifts.  Hang on – did we switch languages again?  It feels a bit different,” Dean replied.

“Yes Dean – we are now speaking Enochian.  I’m not sure what Crowley could be planning.  Many demons use polyglot abilities in the same way angels do – to communicate with the multitude of different humans around the world,” Castiel told him.  Dean sighed and took another long swig from his ale.

“Let’s not worry about it now, Cas.  How do I switch back to English?” Dean asked.  Castiel didn't like how Dean had developed some loyalty towards Crowley that seemed to be blinding him towards whatever Crowley could be doing, but he let the subject drop for now.

“You seem to respond in whatever language in which people talk to you.  I suppose with practice and time you’ll learn to control the switch yourself,” Castiel told him in English.

“We switched again.  So this is English now?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded.  “Cheers – time to top off our ale.”  Dean walked over to the bar to order another round for them.  Castiel tried not to laugh at Dean’s new British accent, wondering how long it would take Dean to notice that Castiel hadn't responded to him in an American English accent.  The Winchester sense of humor was definitely rubbing off on him.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome! Due to all the comment love, I'm posting this chapter a day earlier than originally planned. Thank you to everyone who is taking the time to read and keep coming back for more! <3 <3

Dean was a little nervous about returning to the bunker.  He wasn't sure if Sam wanted to see him after what had happened.  Sam seemed a little surprised to see him, not angry – but there was an unmistakable touch of sadness in his eyes.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean greeted.  “I uh, I’m doing a better job at acting like my old self, so uh . . . .”

“I know you’re trying, Dean,” Sam interrupted.  “And I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but I get that it isn't easy.  You’re being pulled in a new direction that I can’t even imagine.  Even when I was high on Ruby’s blood . . . . it was different.  So please, help me out here, man.  I want to understand this.”  Sam was being a lot more understanding than Dean had expected, but Dean internally groaned that Sam wanted to talk about feelings.  God, he hated those puppy dog eyes of his too.

“I don’t know how that’ll help, even if you somehow could understand this,” Dean began, fighting off his instincts to blow Sam off, reminding himself of his promise to keep trying.  “It’s like this – emotions like anger and hate – they are all amped up.  Everything else gets kind of muted, and the more I uh, give in to my demonic instincts, the more twisted they become.  Things like brotherhood, friendship, love, selflessness – it all gives way to selfishness, desire for control, possessiveness, lust . . . .  Nothing feels like it used to, and I’m stuck trying to do what my old logic said was right, even when it doesn't feel right anymore.”

“So, kind of like when I was soulless, but with an abundance of dark emotions,” Sam mused, and Dean could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to find common ground to help him relate to Dean’s situation.  Dean really hoped that Sam wasn't remembering the time when his soulless-self had told Dean that he didn't really care about him.  “But it’s getting harder and harder for you, isn't it?”

“Cas says to keep remembering who I was, but that’s tough too, particularly with the way the curve balls keep coming,” Dean answered, thinking maybe he could shift the topic away from all this touchy-feely crap.  “The latest is that some mojo of Crowley’s gave me the ability to speak every language.”

“Seriously?” Sam definitely seemed to perk right out of his depressing musings, his face showcasing the conflicting feelings of his inner geek and his indignation at Crowley using more mojo on Dean.

“Crazy, right?” Dean replied with an eye roll.  “What, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No!  Of course not!” Sam squawked, but Dean had clearly touched a nerve.  Knowing Sam, with this ability he would probably lock himself in some library full of foreign language books.  Dean chuckled.

“Cas thinks it’s a riot.  He won’t stop switching languages on me.  He claims that he’s doing it to help me, but I think he’s just laughing it up.  And here I used to think that he had no sense of humor,” Dean told him, not really feeling as annoyed as he was trying to appear.  He kind of liked how Cas was finally starting to get humor enough to tease a bit, even if the angel still couldn't manage to tell a good joke.

“Uh, that’s funny,” Sam said with a slightly confused look on his face, like he hadn't quite gotten everything Dean had just said.  Dean frowned, and tried to think back – Sam hadn't switched languages on him, had he?

“Damn it Sam, you’re worse than Cas, because at least he is fluent in the languages he throws at me.  I assume this is Spanish?  You need to stick to your native language, ‘cause I haven’t figured out how to switch yet,” Dean scolded.

“Say again?” Sam said, with a complete deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Speak English!” Dean ordered with exaggerated pronunciation, which earned him one of Sam’s bitch-faces.

“Why don’t you just speak English then, o great polyglot?” Sam shot back.  This time Dean sensed the switch.

“I can’t control it yet.  I speak what you speak,” Dean told him, trying not to get angry.  His temper was too close to the surface these days.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked.

“He wanted to meet with some angel friend of his, to see if the angels have it out for me.  He insisted that he go alone, so I thought I’d see if you wanted to join me on a hunt,” Dean replied.

“Of course!  I’ll pack my bags.  How far away are we going?” Sam asked.

“Seconds away, Sammy.  So long as the angels might be gunning for me, no staying in any one place too long or using trackable methods of transport like driving.  So long as their wings stay clipped, we’ll be able to stay a few steps ahead of them,” Dean told him.

“And you’re okay with letting the Impala just sit in the garage?” Sam asked.

“It’s just a car, Sam,” Dean replied, meaning it.  He tried to ignore the way that Sam flinched at his words.

 

___

 

Castiel had had Dean drop him off a few blocks away from the café where he had agreed to meet Porosa.  He knew that everyone would probably correctly assume that he was in contact with Dean, but he still didn't want Dean getting anywhere near another angel.  He still wasn't sure if he could trust Porosa, but she seemed like the best person to approach to find out more information about what was going on in Heaven.  She’d said that she still had some connections back there, but wasn't a part of the fray herself.  Castiel was reluctant to have contact with any angels right now, but the more intel he had the better he could protect Dean.  If hostile forces were in charge of Heaven, then he needed to know.

“Good to see you again, Castiel,” Porosa greeted him.  She was wearing a different frilly pink top and had started wearing makeup since he had last seen her.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.  There aren't many angels that I can talk to right now about the situation in Heaven,” Castiel told her.

“I wouldn't imagine so, not with the new scandalous news that your favorite boy-toy has become a demon,” Porosa replied.  There was no malice in her voice, just curiosity, but Castiel still found himself tightening his grip on the angel blade in his trenchcoat.

“Dean is not a toy!” Castiel snapped.

“That’s not . . . never mind.  The point is, he has become number one on Heaven’s most wanted.  He was a threat as a human, but now?  They are trying to find a weapon that can kill him,” Porosa told him.

“Dean wants nothing to do with Heaven!  He never has!  Why can’t they just leave him alone?” Castiel replied angrily, and sighed.  “But at least there is only one weapon that could kill him, and none of them could wield it.”

“Are you sure about that?  The First Blade is the only proven way to kill a Knight of Hell, but there could be others within the vast resources of Heaven,” Porosa told him gently.  She seemed sympathetic to his plight, and placed her hand on his arm, as if to sooth him.  Castiel found her touch disconcerting, and pulled away.

Years ago, Castiel and Balthazar had hidden a large stash of God weapons in Heaven.  They hadn't trusted anyone else with the location, not even their closest followers, and had taken great care to make the location as inconspicuous and unexpected as possible.  Raphael and his followers had never found the weapons, but Castiel hadn't checked on the weapons since that time.  He assumed that they were still well-hidden, but a sense of unease overtook him.  Was it possible that one of the God weapons could kill a Knight?  Was it safe to leave the weapons where they were, when angels were tearing Heaven apart for a way to kill Dean?  Should he have Dean teleport the weapons somewhere where the wingless angels couldn't go?

“No – ordinary angels can’t match the power created by Lucifer,” Castiel insisted, not wanting to share his true concerns with anyone but the Winchesters.

“Still, would you like an extra set of eyes to help you keep a watch over Dean?” Porosa offered, twirling her hair again in a way that was slightly distracting.

“You can best help me by staying here and passing on everything you hear to me,” Castiel told her.  “Thank you for your help.”


	30. Vulnerable

“So, you’re saying that I might not be as immortal as we thought?” Dean asked.  He felt less concerned about the news than Sam and Cas seemed to be.

“I can’t be sure, but it is possible that one of the God weapons could have the power to kill you,” Cas replied.  Dean couldn't help but think that it would have been nice to have had access to the God weapons before he’d gotten Marked so he could kill Abaddon.  But he didn't say anything because there was no point in making Cas feel more guilty over his part in getting himself and the other angels locked out of Heaven.

“So, you’re saying that you want to go to Heaven to retrieve the weapons?” Sam asked.  “I don’t know – that might be risky.  What if you are followed, or caught while transporting the weapons?”

“And what if someone has already found them?  We need to know if angels are coming at us with God weapons,” Cas countered.  “At the very least, I should check on them and renew the protections surrounding them.  I've also discovered a few new spells that could enhance their cloaking.  But without my wings it will take me a few days to make the trip.”  Cas gazed at Dean with concern.  He clearly did not like the idea of leaving Dean for that long.  Other people fussing over him always made Dean uncomfortable, no matter how justified their reasons were.  Sure, Cas being around had significantly helped Dean hold on to his old life, but he could handle a few days without Cas.  He still had Sammy.  Sure nights would be a little lonely without Cas, but Dean would figure out a way to deal without going on another killing spree.

“I’ll be fine, Cas.  It’s you that you should be worried about!  If they are hunting me, then they will hunt you to get to me,” Dean replied.  He couldn't get images of Cas getting caught and tortured out of his mind.  Dean felt like he wasn't worth that.  But the look on Cas’ face showed that he was set on the idea.  Stubborn as a Winchester.  Even if the plan made him nervous, perhaps this was one more time where he would have to trust Cas.

“I promise that I’ll be careful.  Could you please drop me off near the portal?” Cas replied.

 

___

 

Crowley smiled as he read the latest report on the whereabouts of Dean.  His research team was doing a great job at the hourly updates.  It was astonishing that the Winchesters still hadn't figured out how Crowley was really keeping tabs on Dean.  A simple locator spell for the Mark of Cain performed every hour made it pretty easy to know exactly what Dean was doing at all times, all with the benefit of not needing to let his demons get close enough for Dean to catch on that he was being followed.  And here Dean had used this exact same locator spell with Crowley to locate Cain in the first place, and he still didn't suspect a thing.  Crowley wondered just how many times the Winchesters had hit their heads all the times that they had been thrown across the room.

The next phase of Crowley’s plan required good timing since he didn't want either Sam or Castiel getting in the way.  Dean was rarely without one or the other, but Crowley only needed a short window of time to make his move.  He considered increasing the frequency of the spell casting for the locator spell to once every half hour – at least temporarily.  Crowley may have warehouses full of kraken and other ingredients, but no point in being wasteful.  Besides, Crowley suspected that his opportunity was going to come sooner than he thought.

 

___

 

“So get this,” Sam said, after spending awhile researching on his laptop.  “All of the victims’ last purchase was at a diner on the outskirts of town on either a Tuesday or a Saturday.”  They had opted to get a motel room in case the local authorities needed to contact them with additional information on the case.

“So that’s the vetalas’ hunting ground?  That’s a rather predictable hunting pattern.  We can stake out the place tomorrow then,” Dean replied.

“Are you okay waiting that long?” Sam asked, giving him another concerned look.  Dean sighed.

“I can handle it, Sammy,” Dean replied irritably.  Despite whatever mojo Cas’ true voice had worked on him, and trying to remember who he ‘really’ was, Dean knew that he still wasn't back to where he had been before his latest round of torture.  He felt more disconnected from everything, and his more difficult to control bloodlust put him more on edge.  He was sure that Sam had noticed.  Sam always noticed too much for his own good sometimes.  But Dean did not want to talk about it again.

“Wanna hit up a bar tonight?” Sam offered.  He seemed to be going out of his way to be accommodating to Dean, but sometimes enough was enough.

“You look like shit, Sam!  I’m not taking you out vetala hunting tomorrow without you getting some serious shut eye,” Dean told him sternly.  Dean wasn't sure how much Sam had been sleeping lately, but it clearly wasn't enough to recover from all they’d been through.

“I’m fine . . . ,” Sam started to protest.

“Shut up.  You are not fine.  If I've gotta be honest, then that goes for you too.  I can hustle pool just fine by myself while you sleep,” Dean interrupted.  Sam reluctantly agreed.

Dean left the rundown motel they were staying at and started walking towards the bar a few blocks away.  He’d only gotten about a block before he sensed a strange buzzing coming from his pocket that seemed to be calling out to him.  Surprised, he stopped and dug through his pockets until he came across a strange golden coin that he had never seen before.  It had a picture of Crowley’s face on it, winking at him, and a set of coordinates.  The buzzing grew louder and louder, feeling like it was inside Dean’s head.  Dean glared at the coin, and decided to give Crowley a piece of his mind.

Dean teleported to some spot in the countryside where Crowley was talking to some human lady.  They both turned to him when he appeared, Crowley with a big grin on his face.

“You planted some kind of tracking device on me?” Dean yelled.

“Don’t be silly Dean – it doesn't track you.  It only tells you where to come when I call,” Crowley replied evenly, not the least bit flustered by Dean’s outrage.

“Well up yours!” Dean yelled back, and frisbeed the coin as far as he could, which was pretty far with his enhanced strength and speed.

“Cursed object, squirrel.  It’ll keep coming back to you no matter how many times you get rid of it.  Extra crispy too, so no ordinary warded box can hold it,” Crowley replied with a smirk.  “Son of a witch, remember?”

Dean punched Crowley, feeling a little bit of satisfaction at the crack of Crowley’s jaw and the thud when he hit the dirt.  But that still didn't wipe the smirk off of Crowley’s face.  Dean scowled, and turned to leave.

“Please – he said you’d help me!” the woman begged him.  Dean had forgotten that she was even there.

“I just did by punching him.  Trust me, you don’t want anything to do with him,” Dean told her.

“She’s either dealing with you or me, squirrel.  Which one is up to you,” Crowley announced, brushing the dirt off his suit as he got back up on his feet.

Dean felt a chill run through him as he took in his surroundings.  They were at a crossroads.

“Please – you have to save my daughter!” the woman cried, with all too familiar desperation in her eyes.

“You remember how this works, Dean, having experienced it from the other side.  One little smooch, you save her daughter, and you get her soul,” Crowley continued.  “Here is how this is going to work – if you make the deal, you can give her the standard ten year contract or whatever you like.  But if I have to make the deal – she gets one year.”

“You son of a bitch!” Dean roared, marching back over towards Crowley to punch him again.

“Six months,” Crowley said, stopping Dean in his tracks.  “Need I go lower?  She’s desperate enough that she’ll agree to whatever terms I give her.  So what’s it going to be?”


	31. Either Way a Monster

Dean starred at Crowley in horror, hardly believing the mess he found himself in.  He was a monster if he took her soul himself, and he was a monster if he shortened her life to only six more months before her soul went to Crowley.

“Please – I’d rather have 10 years, but I’ll take six months if it is the only way to save my daughter!” the woman begged.

“You don’t want to do this, trust me,” Dean told her, feeling like a hypocrite.  “How do you think your daughter will feel when she finds out that you sold your soul for her?  It’s going to tear her apart.  If you really love her, don’t do that to her.” 

“I have to!  It is my responsibility to keep her safe – I’ll do anything for her!” the woman insisted.  This whole situation was hitting too close to home for Dean’s taste.

“She isn't going to want to be saved – not like this!  Let’s go talk to her and you’ll see!” Dean countered.

“She is in a comma, and she doesn't have much time left.  I’ll never talk to her again unless you save her!” the woman cried.  Dean winced, so much for that plan.

“Don’t you get it?  If you do this, you will burn in Hell for eternity!  You will lose all of your humanity and become a demon – forget who you are, maybe even forget your daughter!  And for what?  So your daughter can suffer an emotional Hell-on-Earth instead of just going to Heaven like she’s supposed to?” Dean yelled.

“She’s my everything!  It doesn't matter what happens to me so long as she’s alive!” the woman whimpered, tears flowing down her face.  “But if you won’t help me, then I’ll take my six months!”  She turned away from Dean and walked over to Crowley.

“Wait,” Dean said, hating himself even more than usual.  “If you’re really going to do this, then I can’t let you only get six months.”  Dean felt sick.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” the woman surprised Dean with a tight hug.

“Don’t thank me for giving you rope to hang yourself by,” Dean growled, and turned to Crowley, hating the smug look on his face.  “So how do I do this?”

“Agree to the terms of the contract, give her a little smooch, and you’ll gain ownership of her soul and the temporary power to heal her daughter,” Crowley told him.  He looked very smug and pleased with the corner he’d backed Dean into.

“Here’s how it’s going to go – you get 100 years, or basically until you die a natural death,” Dean decided reluctantly.

With the kiss came a surge of power that took Dean by surprise.  It felt good.  _So good_.  Dean felt stronger than he had ever felt before.  It was a little intoxicating.  He assumed it was the temporary power of healing that Crowley had mentioned, but it didn't go away after he healed the daughter.

“What did this do to me?” Dean demanded.

“Souls are power.  You hold the contract to her soul, so you now have access to that power,” Crowley told him.  “Why do think souls are such a hot commodity?”

“Well, you ain't winning this battle, Crowley!” Dean insisted.  He closed his eyes and concentrated.  As all of his demonic instincts screamed at him not to do it, Dean ripped up the woman’s contract.  He felt the ownership of her soul return to her, all that power leaving him.  Dean suddenly felt incredibly weak and filled with physical pain as if he’d just been hit by a truck.  He doubled over in pain, breathing heavily for what seemed like a long time until he recovered enough to move again.

 

___

 

Sam recognized the memory in his dream, even if he was now seeing it from a different point of view.  It felt like Sam was seeing this scene from Dean’s eyes, which wasn't always the case with these inconsistent visions.  Sam was about 8 and Dean was about 12, and he thought that they had been in Wisconsin at the time that this took place. 

Dean had found a baseball, and decided that Sam needed to learn to play catch, so they had gone to a small clearing on the edge of town not far from their motel.  Dean first spent some time coaching Sam on the proper form, passing on everything he had learned from Uncle Bobby a few years back.  Then the brothers tossed the ball back and forth.  Initially, Sam wasn't throwing the ball hard enough, and it was falling short of reaching Dean.  Dean kept encouraging Sam to throw it harder, and so Sam put all the muscle of his small body into the next throw.  The ball sailed over Dean’s head and into the trees behind him.

“Great arm, Sammy!” Dean cheered, and turned to go retrieve the ball.  But the grin was quickly wiped from his face when he heard the loud buzzing coming from the trees.  There had been a bee hive hidden in the foliage of the tree that neither of them had seen.  Dean spun around and broke into a run.  Sam started running too when he saw the cloud of angry bees chasing his brother, but he couldn't run as fast on his short legs.  Without so much as slowing down, Dean picked Sam up and ran as fast as he could toward the nearby lake.  Dean carried Sam to the end of the pier and cannonballed into the cold lake.  The bees had lost interest after a few minutes, and had flown away.  Somehow they’d both managed to escape without so much as a single sting.  Sam and Dean had had a good laugh after their little misadventure, but hadn't bothered to go retrieve the wayward baseball.

 

___

 

Sam smiled as he slowly returned to consciousness.  He’d managed to get a dream about bees, even if it wasn't relevant to the hunt for Cain.  It felt good to remember the good times with Dean.  Maybe he could share the memory with Dean later and help him hold on to the good times too.

Sam was surprised that Dean wasn't back yet.  He tried calling him, but didn't get an answer.  Frowning, Sam decided to go about his morning routine and try again later, hoping that his impulse to worry was misplaced.  Back when Dean had been human, this hadn't been a very unusual occurrence. 

He was just settling down to look for what their next hunt would be after they took care of the vetalas, when Dean suddenly appeared.  It was instantly obvious that something was majorly wrong.

Without a word, Dean started trashing the room.  Sam watched in stunned silence as Dean yelled in some language that Sam didn't recognize, threw the tv and other objects across the room, Paul Bunyaned the dresser, and beat the bed until the frame had broken into multiple pieces.  Still breathing heavily, Dean buried his face in his hands and collapsed on the floor.

“Dean?” Sam said softly, cautiously approaching his brother and sitting with him for a few minutes in silence.  “What happened?” Sam eventually prodded.  For a moment he wasn't sure if Dean was going to answer.

“Crowley,” Dean said in a pained and broken voice that was like a knife through Sam’s heart.  “He manipulated me.  He forced me to . . . .” Dean trailed off, the words caught in his throat.

“It’s okay, Dean.  Whatever happened – it wasn't your fault,” Sam whispered.  He tried to ignore the panic in his mind over whatever Crowley had made Dean do, and how it was going to affect Dean short term and long term.

“No, that son of a bitch gave me a choice.  One with no good options.  I couldn't talk her out of it.  How could I?  She was just like me back when I made my deal, and nothing would have dissuaded me then either.  Crowley would have short changed her if I didn't do it myself.  How could I let her get stuck with only six months?  Having only one year left was painful enough,” Dean babbled in a bad state of shock.  Sam’s eyes widened in horror as he put the pieces together.  Crowley had forced Dean to be a crossroads demon.  Fury raced through Sam’s veins, and he wanted nothing more than to skewer Crowley once and for all.  But helping Dean had to come first.

“It’s okay, Dean.  This wasn't your fault,” Sam repeated, knowing that Dean would never believe it no matter how many times he said it.  As horrified as he was to hear what had happened, Sam didn't blame Dean for it, and wished that Dean didn't always blame himself for everything.  He watched as a single tear slid down Dean’s cheek, the first that Sam had seen since Dean had become a demon.  The events of the night had clearly awakened some powerful human memories within Dean.  Perhaps that was a small silver lining to a dark cloud that terrified Sam.  Dean had been forced to cross a line, and he wasn't sure where that was going to lead.


	32. Until Next Time!

Crowley was very pleased with Dean’s performance, even if Dean had ripped up the contract in the end.  There was a good reason why low-level crossroads demons never had ownership of the contracts they made for even a few seconds.  It could be very taxing and painful for demons to rip up contracts, particularly when they didn't own many.  If a demon had hundreds of souls, one or two wasn't very noticeable, but losing the only soul you owned had a rather devastating effect.  If lackeys had to go through the process of transferring soul ownership to their superiors, then the whole operation would crumble very quickly.  Of course Dean would have to learn this the hard way, stubborn as he was.  But after a few rounds of this, Dean probably would stop ripping up contracts.  Crowley decided to let Dean marinate for a while before calling him for his next job.

 

___

 

The next few hours after Dean made the deal were a bit of a blur.  After his outburst of rage where he trashed the hotel room, Dean’s emotions had given way to a strange void.  It felt different from all of his years at practicing repressing his emotions – here it was like his brain didn't even know how to process his feelings.  Dean took refuge in the numbness, wishing he could prolong it for as long as possible, delaying the inevitable return of emotions he didn't want to ever face.  Dean recognized his state of shock for what it was.  It was something that he was all too familiar with.  Usually Dean just tried to bury it and then tackle the problem head on.  But Dean was tired of fighting, and not even being able to trust himself or his own feelings while doing it.  It felt safer to retreat into the numbness.

Dean was vaguely aware of all the things that Sam was saying and doing to try to reassure him – that it wasn't his fault, and that they’d find a way to fix this.  Sam seemed to be trying very hard to control his own freak out, and for that Dean was grateful.  Generally they were both very good at not both freaking out at the same time – one brother or the other would always try to hold it together so that he could guide the other brother through things.  Sam holding it together like this was like an invitation to Dean to freak out however much he needed to – Sam would have his back.

But Sam wasn't nearly as understanding when Dean insisted that he wanted to finish the vetala hunt today as planned.

“You shouldn't be hunting when your head isn't in the right place, Dean!” Sam argued.

“If we don’t get them tonight, someone else will die, and we won’t have another chance until Saturday – that’s four days!  The angels will have tracked me down by then,” Dean replied.  He didn't like the idea of more people dying because he was too messed up to try to save them.

Sam eventually relented, although Dean suspected that it had less to do with Dean’s arguments, and more to do with Sam’s suspicions that Dean would go with or without him.  If Dean was going to be stubborn about going, at least he would have Sam as backup.

Stakeouts often took a long time, so unfortunately that meant that Sam had plenty of time to pepper Dean with more questions to try to get him to open up about what had happened.  Dean was reluctant to talk, but he knew that Sam would just keep pestering him until he did, so perhaps he should just get it over with.

“How does Crowley keep finding you anyway?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.  The sulfur residue and demonic omens that those hunters used to track me are too imprecise for Crowley’s impeccable timing,” Dean replied.

“Demonic omens?” Sam questioned.

“Pretty bad-ass, right?” Dean replied with a half-hearted smirk, and gestured to the storm that was raging overhead.  He’d been too preoccupied to notice at first either, but this wasn't the first storm that they’d encountered since he’d turned into a demon – they seemed to show up within a day whenever he rolled into a new town.  The diner they were staking out had a few patrons that were willing to brave the weather, but were limited enough to make it easy to keep an eye on all of the potential targets for the vetala.

Dean fumbled in his pockets, and winced when he found what he was looking for.  He pulled the gold coin out of his pocket and showed Sam.  Where the coordinates had been, now it merely said ‘Until next time!’

“Looks like it’s back already.  He claims it isn't a tracking device, but Crowley planted this on me.  It’s a demonic pager cursed to follow me wherever I go,” Dean explained.  “No ordinary warded box can hold it, he says.”  Sam frowned as he stared at the coin, turning it over in his hands.  The coin seemed to be trying to move itself out of Sam’s hands to go back to Dean.

“The bunker’s got to have some information on how to make an extra-strong warded box.  I’ll hit the books as soon as we get back tonight,” Sam replied.  “But in the meantime, Dean – if he calls you again, you can’t go . . .”

“If I don’t show, Crowley will short-change them just out of spite.  Maybe even start taking them that day, like with what happened to Dad.  When you’re desperate enough, you’ll agree to anything,” Dean replied numbly.

“I get that, I do.  But Dean – you can’t always save everyone.  It sucks, but remember that nobody is forcing anyone to make demon deals – it’s their choice to make whatever crappy deal Crowley offers them,” Sam argued.

“Right – because people _chose_ to have tragedy come into their lives!” Dean snapped sarcastically.  “Come on, Sammy!  You’ve tried a time or two to sell your soul to save me.  You know what it’s like.  I’m glad you failed, but would it have been fair to you to get short-changed just because the demon was pissed at someone else?”

“Nothing about any of this was ever fair, Dean, but that doesn't mean that it’s your responsibility to try to fix this,” Sam told him in a strained voice that gave away how much Sam was straining to keep his temper in check.

“I’m dealing with this the best I can.  I tore up the contract!  The lady got her miracle, and she got to keep her soul too.  I keep pissing Crowley off like that, and he’ll stop calling,” Dean replied.

“Maybe – but at what cost, Dean?  What about how this is affecting you?  Good intentions don’t always lead . . . ,” Sam argued, back to his concerned little brother tone.

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, pointing out the window – a hooded figure was stalking a lady that had just left the diner.  “Keep an eye out for the second one,” Dean reminded Sam as they got out of the car to follow.  Sam gave Dean a scathing look that said that Sam remembered the last vetalas all too well, and also said that this conversation was not over yet.  Dean had no doubt that Sam was never going to let this go.

But Dean was grateful for the interruption.  The timing couldn't have been better.  Sam had been getting too close to the part that Dean knew would really freak him out.  Dean didn't even want to admit it to himself yet, preferring to desperately cling to the remaining numbness in his system.  Refusing to acknowledge things like this never made them go away, but he always tried.

The truth was, he couldn't stop thinking about the power owning her soul had given him.  It had felt _amazing_.  His demonic instincts were screaming at him to do it again – collect as many souls as he could and revel in the power that they gave him.  It reminded Dean of how he had felt when he had first touched the First Blade – a rush of new feelings that he tried to reject at first, but they had seeped in through his defenses until they were indistinguishable from his own feelings.  This lusting for power was a slippery slope and he knew it.  How could something so wrong feel so right?  Just how completely messed up was he?

 

___

 

Castiel hurried through Heaven as fast as he could while trying to make sure that he wasn't seen or followed.  His anxiety over leaving Dean behind was urging him throw caution to the winds in order to return more quickly.  Castiel couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened to Dean while he was gone.  It took all of his restraint to remind himself that if Castiel got caught by hostile angels, then Dean would undoubtedly do something foolish to try to rescue him.  The best way to protect Dean right now was to watch out for himself.  But Castiel’s patience wasn't what it used to be, and being away from Dean was getting harder.  It was all Castiel could do to keep using every stealth tactic he knew as he cautiously approached the location of the hidden God weapons.

Finally arriving at the location, Castiel quickly cast a few more cloaking spells around himself.  Then he started quietly reciting the spells that would give him access to the weapons.  The magic surrounding them was impossible to sense until after he had bypassed the first few layers of the encryption.  The layers underneath seemed perfectly intact, but Castiel knew that if he could bypass the protection spells without breaking them, then theoretically another angel could too if they knew exactly where to look and tinkered around long enough to find the right spells. 

Time seemed to pass painstakingly slowly as Castiel spoke spell after spell.  When had he become so impatient?  Back when he had designed this hidden vault, he had thought nothing of the time it took to conceal the weapons.  Perhaps he was starting to pick up on some of the less admirable human traits as well.  Castiel held his breath as he finished the last of the spells, and entered the chamber.

It was completely empty.


	33. Chapter 33

Sam was determined to go through every book that the bunker had on warding until he came up with something powerful enough to contain Crowley’s cursed coin.  Dean helped him on and off, but it was obvious that he was distracted and his heart wasn't in it.  It felt like Dean was resigning himself to the new situation, which was so unlike Dean that it scared Sam even more.  He wanted Dean to wake up and fight this!

Initially Sam tried to just keep the cursed coin with him for convenience whenever he came up with a new version of a warded box to try.  However, it quickly became clear that the coin had other ideas.  If Sam turned his back on it for even a moment, it started making its way back to Dean.  Clenching the coin tightly in his hand had resulted in burned fingers – apparently the coin had the power to give off heat when it wanted to.  So Sam tried putting it in an insulated box while clamping the lid closed with his bandaged hand – only to later find that the coin had somehow teleported itself back to Dean’s pocket.  Eventually Sam had to resort to just asking Dean for the coin back every 15 minutes or so, which quickly got on both of their nerves.

Sam’s eyelids grew heavy, and he caught himself nodding off a few times.  He knew that running himself into the ground wasn’t a great long-term strategy to help Dean, but he figured he just needed to find his second wind.  He felt so close to finding a solution.  What was taking Dean so long with that coffee and burgers he’d promised to bring Sam?  Sam sighed and stumbled his way into the kitchen with his eyes half open.

The coffee was made, even all ready to go in Sam’s mug.  Sam scanned the room and saw the half-cooked burgers cooling on a turned-off stove.  Dean was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it, Dean!”

 

___

 

Initially Dean had tried to follow Sam’s advice and just ignore the coin when it started buzzing again.  But it gave him a bad headache as it kept growing louder and more insistent.  That, and Dean kept picturing people grieving over lost loved ones, selling their souls to revive them, only to not even get another six months to spend with them before an eternity in the Pit.  He kept picturing himself back in their position, making another deal to save Sam or Cas, then getting dragged to Hell again without even getting to say goodbye.

Sam looked asleep, so Dean hoped that maybe he could make the trip and be back before Sam woke up.  Sam had tried to talk Dean into taking him along the next time Crowley summoned him.  He figured that the two of them could take Crowley, and then they’d be rid of him once and for all.  Dean had flat out refused.  Crowley surely had contingency plans for such a case, and Dean shuddered to think what they could be.  It most likely would not get him out of this mess, and could make things worse.  Besides, after everything they’d just gone through to kill Abaddon and restore Crowley as King of Hell, Dean didn't like the idea of setting off another mad power scramble between factions.  Better to deal with the devil he knew.

This time there was a man at the crossroads, clutching the lifeless body of a young boy.

“Please – save my son and you can have whatever you want!” the man cried, burying his face in his son’s shirt.

“Look, I've been where you are, and I know you think that you are doing the right thing,” Dean began, feeling like a hypocrite again.  “But I also have been on your son’s side of things.  My dad – he sold his soul for me, and it completely wrecked me.  I never wanted him to do that for me, to suffer in Hell because of me.  I never stopped blaming myself for what happened to him.  So trust me – you don’t want to do that to your son.  Hard as it is, sometimes what’s dead should stay dead.”

“You know what I think?” the man said, turning his misty eyes toward Dean.  “I think that your father saved you so that you could save people like my son.  He sounds like a good man.  I just want to do the same for my son.”  Dean scowled at how his plan to talk the guy out of it just completely backfired.

“Either I take him right now, express pass,” Crowley interjected.  “Or you pucker up and give him all the time you want.  Your choice, squirrel.”

 

___

 

Dean landed back in the bunker with a bit of a crash.  His head was still spinning, so perhaps it had been a little too soon to try to teleport back to the bunker.  Tearing up the second contract had hit him much harder than tearing up the first had, and it was taking him longer to recover.  But he’d been worried about just how long Sam would sleep and had wanted to get back before Sam woke up.  No such luck though – Sam was awake and seething.

“Dean!  I thought we agreed that . . . ,” Sam froze as he watched Dean shakily pick himself off the floor.  “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” Dean snapped, a little harsher than he had planned.

“You are not fine, Dean!  You think I can’t see your muscles spasming like you've been weakened somehow?  Now tell me what happened!” Sam yelled, a bit of panic edging in on his voice.

“Tearing up soul contracts has a few side effects.  No big deal, Sammy – I've been through worse,” Dean reluctantly admitted.  He really didn't want to listen to Sam yelling at him more over his pounding headache.  Sam looked stricken.

“Dean, I know you’re trying to do the right thing here – but look at what it’s doing to you!  Crowley knows your weaknesses and he’s playing you!  You can’t keep going on like this!” Sam pleaded.

“Watch me.  Saving people who need saving – that is what we do.  Ignoring them would be forgetting who I am.  This is no different than any of the other times we've gotten hurt to save people.  I’m immortal, so it can’t kill me.  Besides, this pain wouldn’t even register as a level one on Alastair’s rack,” Dean insisted.  The last part was a lie, but he hoped Sam wouldn't catch it.

 

___

 

Castiel had to slow down once he neared the portal back to Earth.  The area was swarming with angels, which made it more difficult to pass through undetected.  There was a buzz in the air, and everyone was scrambling about with intense focus on their individual tasks.  When Castiel was almost to the portal, he suddenly heard footsteps and Hannah and another angel’s voices growing closer, and he quickly hid.

“. . . .  and patterns from our meteorological studies have helped us track him, but without wings it is proving difficult to catch up.  He also sometimes disappears completely from our sensors, going someplace where he is cloaked – back to Hell I’d imagine.  I need more subordinates to cast a wider and stronger net,” an angel was telling Hannah.  Castiel didn't recognize the voice, and he didn't want to risk a look.

“I can’t spare more troops at the moment,” Hannah replied tersely.  “Heaven is still being rebuilt, and we haven’t yet found a way to restore our wings.  The homefront has to remain my priority or we risk breaking apart into factions again.  Use what resources you have, and bring me the demon and the traitor – dead or alive!”

“As you wish,” the first voice replied.

There was a swoosh sound as the angel used the portal to go to Earth.  Hannah’s footsteps grew fainter as she returned to her office.  Castiel stood frozen in his hiding place.  He tried the technique of “deep breaths” to calm himself down while waiting for enough time to pass for it to be safe to follow the other angel down the portal without being seen.

As reluctant as he had been to trust Porosa, it appeared that she had at least given him accurate information on the state of Heaven.  Hannah did seem to be in charge now, and she was supervising the manhunt.  For a moment Castiel wondered if there was any way that he could talk some sense into her, and get her to call off the hunt for Dean.  _The demon and the traitor – dead or alive_.  Castiel sensed that he was the traitor mentioned here, which meant that he was wanted dead or alive just as much as Dean.  He couldn't risk talking to Hannah. 

He needed to get back to Dean and warn him that the angels were coming, armed with the God weapons.


	34. Chapter 34

Dean couldn't help a small smile when the caller ID said “Cas” on it.  Dean was physically nearly back to being 100%, and now that he knew that Cas had made it safely back to Earth, everything seemed just a little bit better than it had before.  He was sure that Cas would probably take Sam’s side on the whole crossroads deals issue, but he’d take that over worrying about Cas getting captured in Heaven.

Without bothering to answer the phone, Dean quickly teleported to their rendezvous point.  Cas started to smile and lift his arms for a hug when he saw Dean, but then his face quickly clouded over.

“What happened to you?” Cas demanded, his voice full of concern and alarm.  No matter how hard Dean tried to hide how he was really doing, Cas always seemed to be able to tell.  Wordlessly, Dean put two fingers to Cas’ forehead and teleported them back to the bunker.

“Look man, I know that you’re not going to like this, but I’m saving lives and no one else is getting hurt . . . ,” Dean began, trying to remember the mental conversations with Cas that he’d run through his head, even though none of them had ended well.  Cas listened intently while Dean brought him up to speed.  He always was a good listener.  Even though he was clearly distressed about everything Dean was telling him, he let Dean finish before commenting.

“Dean, even if you stubbornly insist that the negative side-effects of this process on you are no big deal – which we both know isn't true – you need to learn how important the big picture can be,” Cas told him.

“I don’t need another lecture on the big picture, Cas!  I get it – you’re worried that this will make me more demonic.  But saving people helps me remember who I am, and I’m not hurting anyone,” Dean countered, feeling tired of the same argument that he’d been having with Sam for days.

“People are getting hurt – and not just me and Sam!” Cas snapped, which got Dean’s attention.  “What do you think is going to happen when word gets out about a demon who is handing out free miracles?”

“I didn't tell anyone that I tore up their contracts later.  They won’t find out until after they die and don’t go to hell.  I made the contracts long enough that they won’t be expecting any hell hounds,” Dean reminded him.

“People will still talk, perhaps ghosts too, about the lower cost of demon deals.  Crowley is using you as a marketing gimmick!” Cas told him.

“Wait, you know about marketing gimmicks now?” Dean asked.

“Dean!” Cas snapped.  “This is serious!  Even if you refuse to stop this for your own sake, stop it for the sake of everyone who might go to Hell as a result of Crowley’s scheme!”

Dean twitched uncomfortably.  As much as he and Cas were often at odds over the big picture versus individual lives, he could kind of see Cas’ point on this one.  If people thought that they could get off easy from a demon deal, then they might be more inclined to make one in the first place.  Crowley really knew how to back him into a corner.  Any choice he made would come back to bite him in the ass.

“Nobody is forcing them to make those deals,” Dean replied weakly.

“The same can be said of the deals Crowley is forcing you to make in his place.  This is not your responsibility,” Cas reminded him, sounding an awful lot like what Sam had said.  “Now – give me the coin.”

Dean fished the coin out of his pocket and handed it over.  Sam had tried every ward he could find in the bunker, and still hadn't found a way to lock away the coin.  Cas studied the coin for a moment, then sandwiched it between his hands.  Bright white light started shining out from between his hands, and Cas started chanting a (probably Enochian) spell.  Dean didn't hear more than the first word though, because at that moment the coin started screeching in protest to whatever Cas was doing to it.  Dean clutched his ears in pain, even though he knew that it did nothing to block the sound.  It was reverberating inside his head.  Cas gave no sign of even being able to hear the screeching, and didn't pause or flinch as he continued the spell.  Just as Dean thought that he might black out from the headache, suddenly the sound stopped.  The light dissipated, and Cas opened his hands to reveal that they were empty.  Cas’ eyes then rolled back into his head, and he collapsed.  Dean quickly caught him before he hit the ground.

“Cas!  Cas!  Are you alright?” Dean asked.  Cas groaned and his eyes fluttered back open.  He blinked slowly at Dean for a moment before replying.  Whatever he had just done had clearly wiped him out.

“I’ll be fine.  What about you?” Cas responded, his voice sounding a little strange through Dean’s still ringing ears.

“I’m fine, Cas!  What the hell did you do?” Dean asked.

“The spell scattered the atoms of the coin around the world.  It probably won’t be able to come back from that, but even if it does it will take a long time,” Cas told him.

“You idiot!  You've got limited batteries!  You shouldn't be using your Grace up on this!” Dean scolded.  “And for what?  So a few people get express tickets to Hell when I don’t show up?” 

Dean was honestly freaked out about Cas getting closer to dying again because of him.  But his second thought upon realizing that the coin was gone hadn't been concern for the humans making deals.  His demon side was horrified and angry that the coin was gone, and the chance to collect souls with it.  As much as Dean had been trying to ignore how much part of him wanted to keep the souls he was collecting, at that moment it hit him full force.  He wanted that power.  He _needed_ that power.  That part of him wanted to go immediately ask Crowley for a new coin.  Dean immediately tried to suppress that thought, horrified at the knowledge that Cas would slowly kill himself trying to destroy any and all coins that Dean brought home.  He couldn't let that happen.  He had to stay in control over this overwhelming lust for power.

Cas was doing his stare-into-your-soul thing.  Dean could see in his eyes that he’d picked up on everything that Dean had just felt.  Cas knew that Dean’s first concern had been Cas, his second had been the power he craved, and the humans making deals had only made the list because that was what Dean knew he was supposed to say.  It was what human Dean would have said.

Cas’ eyes continued to say things that were beyond words.  Emotions passed between them when their eyes met.  Even though Cas was scared, it was for him, not of him.  Cas was still here for him, and not only did he know what Dean had just felt – he understood it.  Cas knew the overwhelming power that came from owning souls.  The memory of when Cas had gulped down all the souls of Purgatory were still painful for both of them, but now it served as a bridge of understanding between them.  Dean could see just how easily Cas had been overwhelmed by all the souls that had been inside him, and how hard it must have been to find himself enough to beg Dean for help sending the souls back.

Likewise, Cas’ eyes were trying to convey to Dean that there was still hope for him in all of this.  If Cas could overcome the souls of Purgatory that had temporarily turned him into a different person, then Dean could now do the same.

Dean knew that his own eyes were expressing his doubts and fears, but it was harder to feel those kinds of emotions when Cas was looking at him like this.  For whatever crazy reason, Cas still had complete faith in Dean, and it made Dean want to be a better person to deserve even an ounce of that faith.  While promises to save him spoken in words alone might seem repetitive, it was the look in Cas’ eyes that sold his complete resolve.  Cas would literally give anything to help Dean through this, even if Dean didn't want him to, or didn't feel worthy of whatever sacrifices Cas made.

Dean had started to think of himself as a monster, but he felt a little less like a monster because of the way that Cas looked at him.


	35. Dealing With Heaven

Sam was relieved that Cas was back.  He found out by almost accidentally walking in on Dean and Cas having yet another one of their intense stare-a-thons.  Sam had awkwardly backed away before either of them had seen him, but he wasn't sure why he bothered being so quiet about it.  Sam could probably invite a few girls over for some naked mud wrestling, and Dean still would most likely be too busy gazing into Castiel’s eyes to notice.  Sam was happy for them, even if the weird staring thing was as far as they were willing to go for now, but he always hated feeling like he was intruding on their private moments.

He figured that the two of them would find him when they were ready to bring him up to speed on Castiel’s trip to Heaven, and he was right.  A little while later Dean and Cas showed up.  As soon as he heard footsteps, Sam quickly stowed away his book on how to support people with addictions.  Cas looked serious, and Dean looked like a little weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Cas is back!” Dean announced with a grin.  Sam wondered if Dean was aware how strongly his mood swings were connected to Castiel’s presence, but knew better than to point it out.

“I’m glad you’re back safely, Cas.  What’s the situation in Heaven?” Sam asked.

“Grave, I’m afraid,” Castiel replied, making Sam’s heart sink.  From the look on Dean’s face, this is the first he’d heard of this too.  “The God weapons – they are all gone.  I don’t know how, but someone found them and stole them all.  And I was able to confirm that there is a task force on Earth for the sole purpose of hunting down Dean.  He and I are both wanted, dead or alive.”

“Wait, you too?” Dean questioned.

“I’m considered a traitor by association,” Castiel told him.  Dean sighed and looked more upset at this than the idea of angels with God weapons trying to kill him.

“Just when things were getting better between you and the other angels, I managed to screw things up again for you,” Dean lamented, going down yet another one of his self-hating spirals. 

“Dean!” Castiel snapped.  “I chose you over them years ago, and again when they asked me to kill you.  I have never regretted that choice, and I would do it again however many times I have to.  You have been more of a family to me than they have ever been!”

“I've treated you like shit!” Dean argued.  Sam thought that it was a pretty big step for Dean to admit that that was sometimes true.  He vividly remembered all of the big fights that Dean and Castiel had had, and all of Sam’s wasted efforts trying to talk Dean into forgiving Castiel and moving on.  Dean’s cold shoulder always seemed to cut Castiel like nothing else.

“You have also forgiven me when I didn't deserve it, and been there for me when nobody else was,” Castiel countered. 

They started doing their staring thing again, and Sam twitched uncomfortably.  They’d forgotten that he was even there again.  Sam knew that on some level Castiel included him in the statements about family, forgiveness, and being there for him, but when he was completely focused on Dean he sometimes tuned everything else out a little.  Sam appreciated his friendship with Castiel, but knew that it was very different from the whatever-Dean-was-in-denial-of that Dean had with Castiel.  However awkwardly watching them eye each other in front of him was getting to be a bit too much, especially after letting them do it for however long earlier, and he had more pressing questions to ask.  Sam cleared his throat, and watched them both jump slightly as they broke out of their trance.

“And Sam, too, of course!  Sam, you've . . . ,” Castiel babbled, misreading the purpose of Sam’s interruption.

“It’s okay, Cas – I get it.  I think of you as family too,” Sam replied with a small smile.  “So what are we going to do about these God weapons?”

“Not much we can do except keep moving faster than those wingless dicks can keep up, unless you know of something powerful enough to rival a slew of God weapons,” Dean replied.

“They mentioned that you've been frequenting a place where they can’t sense you, so I suspect that this bunker dispels your demonic omens,” Castiel told them.

“That’s great, Cas, but I can’t stay holed up in here or I’ll lose my mind.  I've gotta hunt!” Dean insisted.  Human Dean had always gotten cabin fever very easily, but this was more than that.  That hungry glint was back in Dean’s eye, and Sam knew that he was eager for another kill.

“Well we can day-trip from here instead of using motels, and perhaps . . . you could try avoiding Crowley’s summons?” Sam suggested tentatively.

“I destroyed the coin,” Castiel told him.  Two conflicting emotions swept through Sam.  There was incredible relief that after days of worry and frantic research, the coin was finally gone.  But there was also a twist in Sam’s gut.  Once again, he had tried everything he could, and still not been able to save Dean.  Sam was never the one to save Dean.  Castiel had swooped in and done what Sam couldn't do, saving Dean again.  Sam was incredibly grateful for Castiel, but felt pain at never being able to save the brother who had saved him so many times.

“That’s great, Cas!” Sam exclaimed.  From the look on Dean’s face, Dean wasn't entirely happy about this (even though he was trying not to show it), which made Sam feel even worse.

 

___

 

Hannah had claimed Metatron’s former office as her own.  After all of the chaos and faction wars that had existed since the apocalypse was stopped, it was nice to have angel-kind all come together under her rule.  Sure, there were still a few stragglers, and Hannah knew better than to grow complacent, but things were looking up.  Her primary concern was maintaining the order she had fought so hard to build, keeping heaven stable, and everyone unified under her.  Next, she was concerned for any outside influences that could threaten her.

She’d grown to dislike the Winchesters during her short exposure to them on Earth.  They were crude, violent, dangerous, corrupting, and had too much influence over Castiel.  It was frightening to think that someone as influential and widely revered in Heaven as Castiel had fallen for such brutes.  What’s more, despite how Castiel had betrayed them all when he had chosen Dean Winchester over his own people, Hannah was still worried that Castiel could regain loyal followers quickly if he tried to usurp her rule.  After all, this was the angel who was still spoken of in shockingly reverent tones by many, despite how he had destroyed their hopes by ending the apocalypse, slaughtered thousands of them, and caused the Fall.  Metatron had implied that all of Castiel’s actions had been for the sake of Dean Winchester.  No puny human should have such power and influence!  And now that that human had turned into a demon, it was terrifying to think what could become of Heaven if Castiel and that demon tried to gain control.  Finding a way to end the Winchester threat once and for all was crucial, and Hannah wished that she had more manpower to spare on that mission.

“Here is the latest report from the Dean Winchester tracking team,” Flagstaff told her, handing her the report.  “But it seems rather odd – it appears that he visited half a dozen towns over the course of one night, only staying for about an hour in each one.”

“Bloomington, Indianapolis, Tipton, Evansville, Mitchell, and Ellettsville . . . ,” Hannah mused, reading over the list with a frown.  “There must be some meaning behind these movements, some greater purpose tying all of these places together.”

“These actions do seem precise and deliberate, and six is a number used in many demonic rituals, but we haven’t figured out what any of this means,” Flagstaff replied, shaking her head.

“Then you’ll just have to dig deeper.  I want a full report on each of these cities – recent crimes and supernatural activity, human demographics, history, geology, animal and insect populations, topography – physical and energetic, politics, burial grounds – everything.  Highlight any similarities between the cities,” Hannah ordered.

“With all due respect, all of these cities are in the same state – surely they will have lots in common,” Flagstaff replied.

“We cannot afford to overlook anything.  This is the first deliberate pattern we have seen, and it could hold the key to figuring out the demon’s plans,” Hannah told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think you know what the meaning of those six cities is? Leave a comment! (You don't need an account to comment or leave kudos)


	36. A New Lead

Crowley was a little disappointed when Dean’s coin had stopped receiving his messages.  Dean’s movement patterns were reverting back to his previous routine of spending nights with Castiel, so undoubtedly that bloody angel was back from his little romp in Heaven, and the likely cause of the coin’s destruction.  No matter.  While the coin might have had certain ways of compelling Dean to show up when he called, now that the seeds had been planted he could always just text Dean new coordinates.  Modern technology did have its advantages.  Still, doing so when Dean was constantly with his brother and angel and their stabilizing influences wasn't the smartest plan.  The fact that Dean hadn't yet shown up on his doorstep asking for a new coin was proof that Dean hadn't been fully coerced by his lust for power just yet.  Dean would be more likely to give in if Crowley caught him at a vulnerable time.  Crowley was patient and good at biding his time for the right moment.

 

___

 

Sam recognized the memory in the dream – he and Dean were laughing and drinking beers while watching Game of Thrones.  It was a pleasant memory, one in which Sam was sorely tempted to just bask in the comfort and familiarity of it.  But since Sam was lucid enough to be aware that he was dreaming, he knew that he had something more important that he had to do.  He tried to let the intent of his mission flow through his being without concentrating too hard on it – his chance would be gone if he accidentally woke himself up, as had happened a couple of other nights.  Still, it was hard to pull away from memories of the good times he so desperately longed for.  Sam felt his real hand tighten around the amulet he was clutching in his sleep, reminding him of what was really important.

As Sam’s intent flowed through his subconscious mind, he felt the dream shift around him.  It was like he was watching a time-lapse video of the bunker, moving into the future with a blur of movement.  He watched the figures of himself, Dean, Kevin, and Cas blur past him in a series of memories leading up to the present day.  Sam then felt his senses zero in on something in the near future, and time seemed to slow down to normal speed.  The dream suddenly got fuzzy, like there was some sort of static interference, and Sam tried to stay relaxed so that he wouldn't lose the dream.  If he started stressing now it would probably wake him up.

Castiel seemed to be talking to him and Dean, but it was hard to make out all the words.  It was easier to pick up on the mood, which was happy and excited, with a slight edge of anticipation and nervousness that felt just like before they went on a major hunt.

“. . . . turns out that the key was in Western Oregon . . ,” Castiel’s voice said.

Sam’s excitement over hearing an actual place name jolted him out of his sleep.  He lay there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and trying to commit every detail of the dream to his memory before it slipped away.  The amulet clenched tightly in his hand was digging painfully into his skin, so he got up and tucked it back into its hiding place.  Glancing at the clock and seeing that it was already nearly 6 AM, he decided that he might as well get up for the day – he was too awake and excited to get back to sleep anyway.  He hadn't gotten much information from his dream, but it was enough to get started on.

“Cas,” Sam prayed.  “I've got a lead.”

 

___

 

“Sam’s got a lead,” Castiel informed Dean.  Since it had been Castiel’s turn to pick their nightly destination, he had chosen to go fishing again since it was such a peaceful way to spend time with Dean amongst nature.  It was also a nice break from some of the bar-hopping sprees that Dean had been tending to choose lately.  Castiel always enjoyed spending time with Dean in any form, but there was something about nature that helped them both unwind in a very different way than with alcohol.  They had also chosen a spot far enough away from other people that Castiel would easily be able to sense if anyone was coming.

Castiel and Dean both reeled in their lines and quickly packed up all of their gear.  Castiel smiled as Dean placed two fingers on his forehead.  He’d come to rather enjoy the sensation of teleporting with Dean. 

Sam looked far more awake than he usually did at this hour, and cut to the chase the second he saw them pop in.

“I think I found Cain!” Sam announced.

“What?  How?” Dean asked.

“I had a dream about the future, and in it Cas was saying something about how he found the key in Western Oregon.  I think that’s where Cain is.  Isn't that one of the areas where you recruited some of your bee friends to look?” Sam replied, turning to Castiel.

“Yes, Sam – perhaps enough time has passed that they will have news.  I can revisit those bee yards today,” Castiel replied.

“Okay – I can drop you and your pimp-mobile off in the area, and then me and Sam can go make some noise on the other side of the country, like Georgia or something,” Dean suggested.  Castiel didn't quite understand what Dean found so amusing about his car.  It was what humans termed a “classic” car just like Dean’s beloved Impala, which was one of the things that drew him to it in the first place.  But Dean always seemed to enjoy teasing him about it, so he let that comment go, agreeing to Dean’s plan since it seemed logical.

Castiel soon found himself reunited with some of the bees he had met during the last time he was in the area.  They were excited to see him, finding him unusual and interesting.  While social insects, bees didn't often converse with anyone outside their species.  They generally considered solitary insects to lack the ability for rich conversations.  Castiel wished that he had time to give them the stories that they were asking him for, but there were multiple bee yards that he needed to visit today.

Castiel shifted his thoughts into terms and references that the bees would understand, and poised his inquiry to the bees once again.  The colors of Cain’s meatsuit were not bright enough to be of particular interest to the bees, so he generally didn't bother much with a visual description.  Besides, Dean had described Cain as wearing protective gear when tending bees, which made him even less colorful and visually appealing to the bees.  Instead, Castiel focused on transmitting impressions of smells.  The beekeeping Knight of Hell certainly had unusual smells and crackles of energy that the bees were able to pick up on.

The buzz from the bees grew more excited as they recognized his description, and told him that they had found such a man.  Relief flooded through Castiel – all of their planning and hard work was going to pay off!  Like they had suspected, Cain had indeed taken up beekeeping again, and owned a bee yard that sounded like it was less than 50 miles away.  Castiel listened intently to the series of landmarks that the bees described to guide Castiel to Cain’s location.  Then he thanked the bees by gifting them some pollen.

Hurrying back to his car, Castiel whipped out his cell phone and called Dean.

“Dean – I've got a location.  Come take me back to the bunker,” Cas told him.  Dean and Sam quickly appeared in the backseat.  Dean was getting very good at teleporting precisely.

“Why do we have to go back to the bunker?  Let’s go get him now!” Dean protested.

“No Dean – we need to take a minute to plan and map out the exact location from the landmarks I was told about.  We are confronting a Knight of Hell, and he may not want to be found,” Castiel reminded him.  Cain had been an ally to Dean the last time he had seen him, but Castiel didn't want to count on that still being true this time.  It was better to use some caution when approaching a potentially dangerous foe that could pose a threat to himself or Sam.  Dean was more impatient than apprehensive, but he reluctantly teleported them back to the bunker.


	37. Plan B

They debated on whether or not to bring the First Blade with them, since it was the only weapon that could kill Cain if he were to turn violent.  In the end they unanimously agreed to leave it behind.  They weren't sure how much of an effect direct contact with the Blade had on Dean, but suspected that it made it more difficult for him to suppress his demonic instincts.  All of their objectives for this mission also depended on Cain staying alive, and preferably cooperating.  Dean tried not to think about how much he wanted the Blade anyway, despite all logic saying that bringing it was a bad move.  He missed the feeling of its power pulsing in his hand, but quickly tried to bury those thoughts.

It hadn't been too difficult for Cas to translate the directions from the bees to actual landmarks on the map.  Cain had chosen another peaceful, secluded place in the boonies with no nearby neighbors.  They had even managed to pull up a satellite view of Cain’s new home and the nearby bee yard.  Dean had discovered that it was easier for him to teleport precisely if he could clearly visualize his target surroundings.  They debated methods of approach, sticking together or splitting up, but eventually decided that approaching together in a non-threatening way was most likely to get a better reception.

Dean teleported them all onto Cain’s long dirt driveway, and with a deep breath they started walking towards Cain’s front door.  They hadn't gotten more than a few feet when Cain suddenly appeared before them.  Dean couldn't help but think that he really needed some lessons on sensing presences from this guy.  Even though he was braced for now being able to see Cain’s true demonic face, it caused an uncomfortable reaction within Dean – part of him cringing and part of him gleeful.  He had also started to notice that he was now having an easier time telling demonic faces apart.

“I thought that I made my policy on guests very clear, Dean,” Cain growled, but his voice didn't hold any real malice.  “This must be Sam.  Castiel – it’s been awhile.”  As he nodded at each of Dean’s companions in turn, Dean felt his mouth drop open.

“Wait – you two know each other?” Dean demanded, a whirlwind of emotions rising up inside him.

“No!  I have no recollection of ever meeting Cain personally!” Cas immediately jumped in, giving a worried glance at Dean as if desperately trying to reassure him that he would never keep something like that from Dean.  It was hard to pay attention to his words over Dean’s demonic instincts, which were screaming doubt and betrayal at him.

“Not surprising, from what I heard of all the times that Naomi had to fix the little angel that kept having doubts anytime he was ordered to kill his Father’s creations,” Cain scoffed, as if the idea of not wanting to kill was difficult to comprehend.  At Cas’ bewildered and pained look, Dean finally started to believe that Cas really didn't remember.  Cas had mentioned that he didn't entirely recall Cain’s lifetime after all.  But Dean felt his guts twist in a way that he wasn't entirely sure just had to do with how much Naomi had hurt Cas.  Cain, however, seemed almost bored of the topic.

“Dean,” Cain continued, transfixing him under his calculating gaze.  “You turned into a full demon sooner than I expected.”  His tone was casual, as if Dean’s humanity was of no great concern for him.  Dean’s already spinning head was sent for another whirl.

“You knew this would happen?” Dean’s angry voice came out far less intimidating than he’d planned.

“You didn't want to listen to my warnings about the cost of the Mark,” Cain replied coldly.  Dean knew that in his long history of stupid decisions, this one had been right at the top next to starting the apocalypse, but still felt angry that Cain hadn't somehow slapped some sense into him.

“What do you mean, sooner than you expected?” Sam interjected.

“Well, from the way that he talked about his brother, I assumed that he would have the support he needed to slow the progression of the Mark for a few years,” Cain replied.  Sam recoiled like he’d been slapped.  Sam couldn't hide the pain on his face despite his attempts to stay composed and focused on the mission.

“We've come to give it back,” Dean told Cain firmly, trying to refocus this discussion away from one painful topic after another.

“No.  I've closed that chapter in my life,” Cain replied, and Dean felt his heart sink even though he knew it wasn't ever going to be that easy.  “And you can’t force it on me – the Mark has to be willingly received or the transfer won’t work.” 

Dean’s first impulse was to try anyway, not wanting to simply take Cain’s word for it.  As he lunged forward and grabbed Cain’s right arm in his, Cain didn't even flinch or attempt to pull away.  Instead, he almost seemed amused by Dean’s fruitless struggles to force the Mark to return to Cain.  He seemed completely confident that Dean would fail.  Dean continued to strain with everything he had until he was out of breath with a pounding head from concentrating so hard, and still the Mark didn't even glow, much less send streams of red energy down his arm towards Cain.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but if you truly want to get rid of the Mark, then you’ll have to find someone else who is worthy,” Cain told him.  Despite his words, he didn't seem all that sympathetic.

“Then it’s time for Plan B,” Sam announced.  Cain blinked in confusion for a moment before he glanced down at his wrists.  While Dean had served as a distraction, Sam had used his telekinesis to slap a pair of demon handcuffs around Cain’s wrists.  Despite everything, Sam had managed to keep his head in the mission better than Dean had.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Cain roared.  His muscles twitched like he was trying to use his powers to overcome the handcuffs, but it was to no avail.  Dean had already put those handcuffs through a trial run earlier, just to make sure that there was no special Knight of Hell power that could somehow get through the spell work engraved into the handcuffs.

“Our demon cure hasn't been tested on a Knight of Hell before,” Sam told him.  This plan had been his idea, although Dean wasn't quite sure why Sam was so gung ho about it.  There hadn't been much evidence to suggest that curing a Knight would be any different from curing an ordinary demon.

“I've spent thousands of years as a demon, and you want to change me back into a mortal?  Even if I survived the transformation, it wouldn't work on Dean so long as he has the Mark.  And no amount of forcing compassion back into my veins is going to make me agree to take it back,” Cain argued.

“We’ll see,” Cas replied with an icy glare.

 

___

 

It didn't take long to set up base at an old abandoned church – hallowed ground.  Working quickly, they decorated the whole church in various wardings and protective sigils.  Upon Cas’ insistence, they had even prepped an angel banishing sigil so that they could use it on a moment’s notice if the other angels managed to track them here.  Cas knew that he would get banished too if that were to happen, but reasoned that Dean could just come retrieve him wherever he ended up, and it would give the Winchesters time to escape.  Fighting angels potentially armed with God weapons was strictly a last resort to be avoided at all costs.

Cain was chained to a chair in the center of the room, with a large devil’s trap drawn around him as an added precaution.  Dean worried about Sam as he unpacked his supply of needles and syringes.  Even though Sam’s system should be completely clear of Trial juice (after letting go and being healed by Gadreel), Dean was still nervous about the off chance of re-triggering something that could possibly be simply dormant.  But Sam had downright insisted on doing this cure himself, and Cas seemed to think that if there were any signs of a problem that he could heal Sam before he regressed too far.

“You probably don’t want to watch this,” Sam told Dean.  Dean scowled, not liking that his brother thought he had to protect him from this.  If this cure really did work, and they found a way to get rid of the Mark, then that could be Dean sitting in that chair someday.  He didn't want to hide from whatever was going to happen.  He needed to see this.


	38. Any Means

Sam was nervous about the idea of Dean watching him cure Cain.  He knew from what had happened with Crowley that the process could be very intense, and very emotional.  Dean didn't handle emotions on a good day.  Letting on just how emotionally vulnerable the process made the demon-turning-human seemed like a guaranteed way to upset Dean.  But Dean was dead set on staying, and Sam thought that trying to force the issue would only make things worse.  Perhaps Dean’s own imagination of what the process entailed would be even worse than the reality, and thinking that Sam was hiding the truth from him would only increase his apprehension.  Sure, Dean had seen the old Men of Letters video footage of a demon being cured, but then the viewing had been detached and impersonal.  Now none of them would be able to help picturing Dean in Cain’s place.

Despite his concerns over how watching Cain could affect Dean, it still didn't change the fact that they had to know if this was going to work.  Some of the early Men of Letters demon cure experiments had ended up killing the demons instead of curing them.  Cain’s comment on ‘if [he] survived the transformation’ also kept playing through Sam’s mind.  It all lead to the same conclusion: Sam would rather experiment on Cain than Dean.

Sam retreated for some privacy while he purified his blood by asking forgiveness for his sins.  The memories of the last time he’d done this were still painfully fresh on his mind.  Last time Dean had been all too eager to make suggestions on things that he could ask forgiveness for, including things that Sam had hoped that they had been able to move past, and even things that hadn't really been Sam’s fault like losing his soul, but somehow Dean still blamed him for it.  Everything had made it all too crystal clear just how much he had let his brother down.  And yet, Sam had still managed to let his brother down again only a few months later. 

Cain’s words were still ringing in Sam’s mind.  If Dean had had the proper brotherly support, then the process of turning into a demon could have taken years.  Perhaps they even would have been able to find a way to stop it before Dean had changed into a demon.  Instead, Sam had refused to make up with Dean for months because he was stubbornly clinging to the idea that that was the only way to force Dean to change his unhealthy obsession of saving Sam at any cost.  As a result, Sam hadn't been there to see the signs of just how direly Dean had needed Sam to be there for him, and to save him from another one of his stupid choices.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned . . . ,” Sam began, and found that once he started he couldn't stop.  Dean had never been much of a talker, but Sam often found himself wishing that he could talk things out more often.  Even now, as he rambled on to a God that he wasn't convinced even cared, Sam figured that getting it out probably at least helped on a psychological level.  He didn't try to stem the outpouring of pain choked out from his cracking voice, or the hot tears sliding down his cheeks.

Eventually he felt at a loss for anything else to say, even though he had no doubt that he could come up with more in an hour.  He sat there for a while, shaking, silently pleading that somehow this process would help him get one step closer to getting his brother back.  _This had to work_.  Any other result just might break him.  Sam had to believe that he could get his brother back. 

After a few minutes he was able to compose himself again.  He needed to put his brave face back on for Dean’s sake, and not let on just how scared he really was.  It was his turn to be the strong brother now, and he would find a way to somehow keep Dean believing.  Sam carefully wiped all traces of his tears away, then drew a syringe of his now purified blood.  If either Castiel or Dean noticed his slightly red eyes when he returned, they were nice enough not to mention it.  Without further ado, Sam administered the first dose of blood to Cain.  Cain barely flinched from the needle, his chilling glance never leaving Dean.

Castiel and Dean were both watching Sam very closely, looking for any sign that doing the demon cure was awakening the Trials within Sam.  If that were to happen, they had all agreed to stop and find another human to donate blood for the cause.  Sam really wanted to be the one to cure Cain though, so he was immensely relieved by the lack of symptoms he was showing.  He felt perfectly healthy.  Sam wasn't in any pain, and there was no sign of his arms glowing from Trial juice.  He gave Castiel and Dean a small tense smile to show that he was okay.  Dean especially didn't look entirely convinced, but Sam knew that he wouldn't stop worrying until this was over no matter what Sam said.  Castiel looked a little wary, but didn't otherwise offer any contradicting evidence that Sam was anything but okay.

“We agreed that when we next met, that you would use the Blade to kill me,” Cain reminded Dean, his first words since arriving at the church.

“I never said I wouldn't kill you.  If you still want me to kill you after we’re done here, just say the word,” Dean replied coolly.

“You mean after you've tortured me into oblivion.  I've spent millennia doing the worst things that you can imagine and more, and you want to force me to feel all of that?  That’s more than any human soul should ever have to bear!” Cain argued, and for the first time his gaze sought out Sam and Castiel.  “Dean may be a demon, but surely a human and an angel have some compassion?  Show me some mercy and kill me now!” 

“Dean is not to blame – this was my idea,” Sam told him. 

Sam knew that Cain was right – what they were going to put him through was unspeakably cruel.  He couldn't even begin to imagine what kinds of horrors Cain might have done while he was a demon.  Legends of the reign of terror the Knights of Hell had once held were something that the old tomes in the bunker had seemed terrified to go into detail about.  The death toll was certainly well into the thousands, maybe millions, and those deaths were mostly brutal deaths that often included long periods of torture.

None of this was really the fault of the human that Cain had once been.  All of his actions as a demon were a result of the corruption of the First Blade, and Sam had now seen just how powerful of an influence the Blade could have.  Even the best of humanity could be twisted into a monster.  Cain as a human sounded like he had been a decent guy, perhaps even a lot like Dean.  It was that human side of Cain that was going to be forced to feel the entire weight of what his demon side had done.  The weight of all the pain he had caused could crush him.  Even if he physically survived the transformation, he could be so mentally scared that he would be like an empty shell.

This was probably the most immoral thing that Sam had ever knowingly done.  He wouldn't wish this on anybody, even his worse enemies.  Nobody deserved what he was doing to Cain.  And yet as much as he sympathized with Cain, and felt horrible about what he was doing, Sam knew that he wouldn't stop.  Sam would do whatever it took to help Dean.  If curing Dean stole a little of his own humanity, then so be it.  Castiel’s eyes also betrayed pangs of sympathies, but Sam knew that he would stay firm in his resolve to help them do this.  For today, all of them would be monsters.

Still, the next time Sam went in for confessional, he figured that the extreme lengths he was willing to go for his brother were probably one of the sins he should be asking forgiveness for.  Despite all of the times he’d gotten mad at Dean for the things that he’d done to keep Sam safe, Sam knew that deep down he was just as bad.


	39. Chapter 39

Dean watched Sam like a hawk, looking for the tiniest signs that Sam’s health could in any way be in danger from doing the demon cure.  But the only symptoms that Sam showed were exhaustion and a slight redness in his eyes that might have been caused by crying.  Dean wasn't sure that he wanted to know just what Sam was asking forgiveness for in confessionals this time.  After how disastrous Dean’s last attempt at making suggestions for that was, this time he steered clear of the whole topic.  The last thing that he needed to do was inadvertently give Sam more ideas about how Sam had let him down.  Even if sometimes Sam really had let him down, it shouldn't overshadow all the times when Sam had been there for him.  The fact that Sam hadn't given up on his demonic brother was proof of that.

Words, however, were never really Dean’s strong suit.  Instead Dean settled for bringing Sam hot coffee and fresh food between blood doses.  Sam managed to give him a few forced smiles, which Dean figured was as close to a win as he was going to get in this situation.  Even though this whole thing had been Sam’s idea, Sam seemed to be struggling with what they were doing to Cain.  Dean was a bit pissed that Cain had managed to get under Sam’s skin.  His brother didn't need any more guilt – he was carrying around too much already.

Cain hadn't reacted too much to the first dose of blood.  Sam hadn't seemed too concerned about that, so Dean didn't worry about it either.  After all, Sam was the expert here.  Once Cain had realized that his pleas for the mercy of a quick death instead of a cure were falling on deaf ears, he went back to sitting quietly and scowling.

The second dose of blood didn't cause much of a reaction either at first, but over time Cain’s facial expression started to shift.  The scowl slowly deepened into a frown.  But the flecks of horror that were slowly creeping into Cain’s eyes were the biggest change.  Dean recognized that look all too well from the mirror.  It was the look of someone who had done unforgivable things.  It was the look of someone forever haunted by their past.

Dean vividly remembered the day that he had first met Cain.  From the way that Cain had talked about his past, it had felt a bit as if Cain was trying to dissociate himself from his past.  Sure, he kept up on current events, but otherwise he tried to distance himself from his old life.  He had been holding himself to Colette’s standards.  Dean now knew from experience how hard it was for a demon to hold himself to human standards.  He found himself wondering if Colette had made Cain feel any genuine remorse over his past actions, or if all of the regret that was going to hit him now was going to be brand new.

The third dose of blood was like a bit more intense version of the second dose.  However, it was with the fourth dose of blood where things really started to show.  The pain in Cain’s eyes was such that Sam had started looking anywhere but at Cain.  Cain wasn't exactly seeking out eye contact with anyone, but he was hard to ignore none the less.  He had started muttering under his breath, a rambling that was difficult to follow, not that Dean even tried.  Generally Dean tried to tune him out, although he caught random fragments of what Cain was saying.  There were a lot of mentions of Colette, almost as if Cain was pretending to talk to his long dead wife.  Either that, or perhaps he was already delusional enough to think that his wife was actually there, Dean wasn't sure.  Either way, it sounded like he was confessing things to her via vague references to things that he had done, and then asking for her forgiveness like her opinion was the only one that mattered.

Sam still seemed physically okay after all of the doses of blood so far.  Dean wouldn't breathe easy until he saw Sam completely pull through the cure unscathed, but every minute that passed without glowing arms threatened to get his hopes up that everything was going to be alright.  Emotionally though, Sam was definitely struggling.  Dean was tempted to duct tape Cain’s mouth and put a paper bag over his head, but he figured that Sam wouldn't take that very well either.

Worrying about Sam also helped distract Dean from worrying about his own situation.  Cain was a living, breathing example of what could happen to Dean if they found a way to remove the Mark.  Dean may not have been a demon for even a fraction of the time that Cain had been, but he had still done many horrible things during his time – as a living human, while under Alastair in Hell, and as a demon.  The pain that Cain was experiencing now was a taste of what Dean could someday experience.  But he couldn't let himself think about that.  Dean focused on his old standbys of repression and focusing on helping Sam.  Although, the waiting around for hours and hours was making that more difficult.  Dean really wished that he could run off and go kill something to vent all of his feelings.  But there was no way that Dean would leave Sam, even if he did have Cas watching over him.  He’d have to tough it out.

 “Let me speak to Dean alone,” Cain requested suddenly.  He seemed more lucid than he had been a few minutes ago, but the deep pain in his eyes was still there.  Sam and Cas both immediately looked to Dean with concern, but Dean nodded and waved them off.

“We’ll be right outside,” Sam told Dean, eyeing Cain and Dean with worry.  Cas didn't look any happier about leaving the two of them alone.  As soon as the door closed, Dean turned to Cain.

“So talk,” Dean opened, crossing his arms and staring down at Cain.

“You seemed upset earlier, when I mentioned having met Castiel before.  But your distress is unfounded.  Whether Castiel ever regains his memory of me is of no consequence to either of you,” Cain told him.  Dean blinked for a moment.  Whatever he had expected Cain to want to talk to him about, it wasn't that.  But Cain’s empty words did nothing to ease the twist in Dean’s gut.

“What, and I’m supposed to just take your word for it then?  Naomi wouldn't have removed his memories if they were of no consequence!” Dean snapped.

“Believe me, I saw nothing that showed anything but Castiel being a good little soldier.  However, with Naomi frequently getting inside Castiel’s head, she could have seen something that I didn't.  From what I heard, she habitually removed any memories of his that had even traces of doubt, even if it was undetectable to others.  All I can offer you is the chance to see for yourself,” Cain told him.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“As a Knight of Hell, you have the power to see my memories.  You can experience for yourself what really happened between me and Castiel all those centuries ago.  But you should do it now because I’m not sure what will be left of me at the end of this,” Cain explained.

“Why would you want to help me?” Dean demanded.

“Well, you are my great-grandson, a couple hundred generations removed.  I suppose I should help you, even if this is how you repay me,” Cain replied, motioning to his shackles.  Dean remembered how he had once been told that the Winchester bloodline as vessels went all the way back to Cain and Abel.  Dean didn't exactly have a great track record with grandfathers.  He felt responsible for Henry Winchester’s death, and sure Sam had been the one to pull the trigger on Samuel Campbell, but that had really just been a matter of beating Dean to it.  Dean had somewhat gotten over his old ideas of blood determining family, but he did feel a bit of a kinship with Cain.  He wasn't sure how much of it was because of the Blade, or how Cain claimed that they had a lot in common, or even if some of it did tie back to being blood, but the connection was there whether he wanted it to be or not.  Part of Dean wanted to trust Cain, at least enough to find out whatever he could from him.

“So how do we do this?” Dean asked with a reluctant sigh.

“The Mark prevents you from fully leaving your meatsuit.  However, you can breathe a small part of yourself out and into me.  This partial possession will allow you to search through my memories for yourself.  The Mark gives you the power to possess me even though I’m still a demon,” Cain explained.  “So, are you ready for some answers?”


	40. Biblically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather minor point, but this chapter (like the show) makes a liberal interpretation of biblical stories. Mainly - there are other people besides Cain, Abel, Adam, and Eve in Cain's village (aka potential vessels).
> 
> Geeky justification (if anyone cares): The show seems to take an intelligent design approach to its mythology of the origin of humanity, mixing creation with evolution. (ie. Cas talked about how they weren't sure which monkeys (homo sapiens, neanderthals, etc.) were going to make it.) So "Adam and Eve" are more representative of early humanity than the literal first two humans, and parents of Cain and Abel. So basically, this takes place after people became homo sapiens, and after whatever happened with Gadreel and the Garden, near some small early village somewhere in Eastern Africa before humanity spread out to other parts of the world.

Dean really didn't like thinking about how he now really was a black cloud of smoke swirling around inside his old body.  However his demonic instincts seemed to understand very well how to follow Cain’s instructions.  He broke the devil’s trap surrounding Cain, knowing that Cain still wouldn't be able to do anything while in the enchanted chains.  Stepping up towards Cain, Dean breathed a small puff of himself into Cain’s mouth.  The sensation of suddenly being two places at once was very bizarre, even though Dean could feel that the two parts of himself were still very interconnected even if there was a small amount of physical space between them now.  Dean focused his consciousness on the part of him inside Cain, zooming back to the memory of Cain’s that he wanted to see.

 

___

 

Dean found himself in a sun-beaten grassland with sparse trees, perhaps a mile out from a tiny village surrounded by a wall of dead branches.  There was a young man sitting with his back up against a tree, with a miserable shell-shocked look on his face.  His eyes were fixed on something off in the distance, and Dean turned and looked and saw that the man was looking at another man who was tending sheep in the nearby hills.  Dean realized with a start that the man with the sheep was probably Abel, which made him wonder if the first man was Cain.  He looked nothing at all like the Cain that Dean knew, but something about the look in his eyes seemed to reflect the man he would someday become.   Cain was very short compared to modern people, and his sparse clothing barely covered any of his dark glistening skin.  Dean had expected to see the memory from Cain’s point of view, but realized that he was more of a disembodied ghost watching the events unfold around him.

A third man approached Cain, and Dean instantly recognized him as Castiel, despite him wearing a completely different vessel.  Even without those beautiful vibrant blue eyes there was no mistaking his piercing yet quizzical expression.  The dark eyes and features he was wearing now carried the same intensity and power.  He walked gracefully with purpose, yet with a stiffness that reminded Dean of when he had first met Cas, before he had become comfortable in his vessel.

“You are not Khamisi,” Cain commented once Castiel had walked up to him, never taking his eyes off of his brother in the distance.  Dean figured that Khamisi must be the name of whatever dude Castiel was possessing.  Dean chuckled a little at how fitting the meaning of the name was.

“No, I am Castiel.  I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel told him.

“I've had enough of angels for one day,” Cain replied, still never even sparing Castiel a glance.

“I am not with Lucifer.  He betrayed Heaven and seeks to destroy humanity,” Castiel told him, slight traces of bitterness creeping into his otherwise monotone voice.

“Then if you are an angel, can you save my brother without me making a deal?” Cain asked.

“My orders are not to interfere with the choice laid before you, only to ensure that you understand the consequences of what Lucifer is offering you,” Castiel replied.  Dean winced – that sounded like textbook angel douche-baggery.  He had no doubt that the angels could have simply saved Abel if they had wanted to, but no, they wanted to put Cain through some sort of test.  Cain seemed to see right through the BS.

“This is Heaven’s idea of justice?  Either my soul or my brother’s soul goes to Hell?  Do you never doubt such terrible orders?” Cain shot back, turning to face Castiel for the first time, anger burning in his eyes.

“No.  Heaven is just, so my orders are just,” Castiel replied stiffly.  To anyone who didn't know Cas, it would seem like he was giving an honest answer.  But Dean knew Cas better than anyone – even this Cas who wasn't yet his Cas.  Dean could see the slight shift in Castiel’s posture, the tiniest flickers of doubt in his eyes, and barely detectable waver in his voice.  Deep inside, every part of Castiel was struggling with the injustice of the situation, and wondering how this could possibly be Heaven’s plan.

“What would you even know?  You are just an emotionless tool being used by whoever is in charge, with no thoughts of your own,” Cain snapped bitterly, turning away again. 

Dean’s ghostly fist went right through Cain’s head before he even had the chance to remember that this was just a memory, and that he wasn't actually there, so he couldn't really punch Cain.  He wasn't sure which was worse – watching someone else talk to Cas like that, or remembering how he had once talked to Cas like that.  He very clearly remembered calling Cas a hammer, which had later led to his first real glimpse inside Cas’ shell on that sunny November day in the park.  It was the first time Dean had let himself feel the strange connection he had with the angel.  At the time, Dean hadn't quite realized how much of a risk Cas had been taking by sharing his real feelings with him like that.  It was only later that Dean had realized that the other angels saw Cas’ doubts as punishable by death, or whatever horrible things Naomi had done to him.

But looking over at this past version of Castiel, Dean saw not the slightest desire to share his inner feelings with Cain.  There would be no ‘if you promise not to tell another soul’ type discussion here.  Castiel hated the position that Cain had been put in, and wished that his orders were different, but he wasn't willing to break ranks to save him.  The way that Castiel was looking at Cain was completely different from the way that Castiel had ever looked at Dean.  Whatever would one day lead Castiel to open up to Dean was not present here.  Dean felt relief from a weight he didn't know that he had been carrying. 

Cain was completely oblivious to the pain that his words had caused Castiel.  Dean realized that even had Cain cared enough to try to read Castiel, he probably would have only seen Castiel’s poker face.  Dean could read Cas like a book, but only because he knew in and out what even the slightest twitch in his muscles meant.  Castiel’s secrets were pretty safe from anyone without the power to drill into his mind like Naomi.

“Even if you chose to save Abel, the Mark and Blade that Lucifer will give you will slowly turn you into a demon.  Keeping a strong connection to who you are and to your brother’s love will help slow the effects, but you will eventually be reduced to a bloodthirsty killer who will want nothing more than to kill everything and everyone for the mere sport of it,” Castiel told him, ignoring Cain’s earlier comments.  Cain cringed at Castiel’s words, but the firm set of his jaw showed that his mind was already made up.

“Yeah, well a choice between saving my brother and saving myself is really no choice at all.  Get out of here,” Cain told him.  With the familiar rustling of feathers, Castiel was gone.

 

___

 

The part of Dean that had been inside Cain swirled back into his own body.  Dean’s head spun from the jolt of being whole again, and back in the present.

“I only saw the one memory with Cas,” Dean started.

“That was our only meeting,” Cain replied.  “Everything else that I know about him came from rumors.”

“I expected to see it from your eyes,” Dean continued.

“After millennia of disassociating myself from my painful memories of who I used to be, I can no longer see myself through my old eyes.  Memories can be fluid and change with retrospection, but I assure you that I have not made any conscious alterations for the purposes of hiding anything from you,” Cain told him.  As much as Dean was reluctant to trust other demons, he honestly couldn't imagine Cain being able to fake all the subtleties that had been in Castiel’s expressions.  He believed Cain.

“But you also looked completely different.  I thought you said that the Mark kept you from switching up your meatsuits?” Dean asked.

“My meatsuit is the same, but I had no interest in keeping the face of a man I no longer was.  There are spells that can be used to alter your appearance.  I used to change my face rather frequently, until I met Colette.  Since then, I have chosen to keep the face of the man that she fell in love with,” Cain replied.

“One more thing,” Dean said, and then without warning, punched Cain right in the face.  “That’s for insulting Cas, you son of a bitch!”  Ignoring Cain’s shock and bewilderment, Dean fixed the devil’s trap around Cain, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow - 40 chapters, and over 5000 views! Thanks everyone for all the kudos/comments/bookmarks/subscriptions support! ❤
> 
> I've got quite a bit more planned for this story, and a possible sequel in the works, so stay tuned!


	41. Sounds at Sunset

Dean stepped outside the church to find Sam and Cas sitting on the front steps, watching the beginning of the sunset.  Sam jumped up when Dean arrived, giving him a small smile, and headed back into the church – probably to administer the next dose of blood.  Dean sat down next to Cas, and enjoyed a few moments of sitting together in silence while he sorted through all of his thoughts.  The sunset kept getting brighter and more colorful by the minute, offset by the dark purple storm clouds looming on the horizon.

“I don’t suppose those storm clouds are because of me – it should still be a bit early for that,” Dean mused.  Cas cocked his head at him and raised an eyebrow.

“This language has been extinct for millennia,” Cas commented, and Dean realized that he must still be talking in whatever language had been used in Cain’s memory.  He groaned.

“It’s Cain’s native language.  You can switch us back to English,” Dean told him, feeling more aware of the different feel of the sounds his mouth was making, and the different sounds his ears were hearing.  It all felt completely natural to him like he had been speaking that way all of his life, but when he concentrated he could feel how it was different from English.  It still weirded him out a bit.  Cas, however, completely ignored his request to return to English.

“Ah yes, this was one of humanity’s first languages.  I rather enjoyed its rather varied vocabulary for all the nuances found in nature with greater precision than possible with modern English.  All the different clicks used in this language are also sadly no longer common in most modern languages, but they can still be found in a few regions . . . ,” Cas explained fondly. 

Dean was more fascinated than he ever would be willing to admit by watching Cas speak such a different language.  Different kinds of clicks, huh?  Now that he knew what to listen for, he could hear them, and feel different associated meanings in his head.  His sense memory could also recall the feeling of those sounds on his own tongue.  It was a bit surreal.  He watched as Cas’ lips and tongue moved in new ways to create the various clicks and non-English sounds, including a few sounds that seemed to come from deep within Cas’ throat.  The golden light of the sunset seemed to glisten off of Cas’ tongue in a way that highlighted its playful movements around Cas’ mouth.

Dean jolted suddenly when he realized that he had been paying far too much attention to Cas’ mouth.  He shifted uncomfortably and turned his head away from the puzzled look that Cas was giving him now.

“Yeah, I’m sure geek-boy would love to hear all about that language stuff.  You could probably even offer some corrections to our encyclopedias on the topic,” Dean told Cas, still not meeting his eyes.  Dean really hoped that Cas had still been talking about language so that his comment would make sense, but he honestly had no idea.  He had a vague sense that he had spaced out of whatever Cas had been saying for at least a minute or two.  But if Cas found his behavior strange (which he probably did) then he didn't comment on it.  That didn't stop the silence between them now to be strangely awkward.  Silence between him and Cas was usually comfortable not awkward, and Dean was pretty eager to move things in a new direction.

“So Cain showed me his memory of the time that he met you,” Dean explained, and relayed the events he’d witnessed to Cas.  Dean felt very self-conscious of the way that his mouth was moving to form the words, and desperately tried not to think about Cas’ mouth moving in the same way.  He really needed to figure out how to switch back to English.

“So, the angels were testing Cain, but it sounds like we were expecting him to choose to deal with Lucifer.  And I was on board with that?” Cas clarified, sounding uncertain.

“That’s what you told Cain anyway, and he believed you.  Who knows what the angels’ real motivation was,” Dean told him.  “But you weren't buying any of it.  You might not have wanted to share with Cain, but you clearly thought that your orders from your dick bosses to toy with humans were wrong.”

“Well, I can’t imagine that there was anyone I would have risked that for, until I met you,” Cas replied.  Dean guiltily felt glad that there hadn't been anyone else that Cas had been willing to fall for before he met Dean.  He tried to derail that selfish thought – perhaps plans for the apocalypse wouldn't have ever been acted upon if more angels had stood up against the dicks in charge.  But on the other hand, Dean wouldn't have trusted Cain or anyone else to have had a fallen Cas’ back against the wraith of Heaven.  That was Dean’s job.  Perhaps it was for the best for Cas’ sake too that he hadn't rebelled earlier.  In the end, all that mattered was that Dean had his angel by his side.

“It was a stupid risk.  You barely even knew me,” Dean argued.  It wasn't what he wanted to say.  He wanted to ask, why him?  Dean had been nothing rude and disrespectful during all of the times he’d met Cas prior to that.  He’d never understood what Cas could possibly have seen in him.  Cas, however, chose to ignore Dean’s words in favor of addressing what Dean left unspoken.

“I’d held your shining soul, and our Profound Bond let me see deeper than should have been possible.  I knew I could trust you, confide in you, and it felt right that I should do so,” Cas told him.  Dean squirmed a little, and fixed his eyes on the rapidly disappearing sun, but still felt Cas’ eyes boring into him and trying to seek out another soulful gaze.  Dean never really knew how to respond whenever Cas mentioned their Profound Bond or whatever.  Sure, he felt it too – always had.  It just was on the list of things that he didn't allow himself to examine too closely.

“I was just some, snarky disrespectful jerk that you could've thrown right back in the pit,” Dean deflected with a smirk, forcing a laugh.  The memory still made Dean shiver a little in a way that didn't really feel like fear.  To Dean’s surprise, Cas laughed at that too.  It was a small laugh, but it was enough to make Dean look back towards Cas and smile.  His tension melted away.

“We both knew that I was bluffing,” Cas replied light-heartedly.  Their eyes met again, and Dean felt warmth.  Cas had come so far since that time – they both had.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted sheepishly.  “Good times.”

Dean found himself sucked in again to Cas’ eyes, the vibrant blue mixing with the last golden rays of sunlight.  Dean felt like those eyes reflected the same emotions that he was feeling.  He felt like he was able to be himself around Cas, in a way that was different from what he had with Sammy.  He could be open and talk to Cas in a way that he’d never been able to do with anyone else.  On some level, he could understand why Cas had felt safe opening up to him all those years ago, because he felt the same way about Cas.  Dean felt so happy to be sitting here with Cas.  He didn't even realize how he was leaning closer, subconsciously wanting to physically reflect that closeness with Cas.

There was a creak as the door behind them opened.  Dean jumped out of his skin, landing a few feet back.

“I . . . I’m so sorry!” Sam sputtered, turning red in the face.  “I didn't hear any talking, so, uh . . .”  The thought that Sam could have overheard his earlier conversation with Cas made Dean furious for a split second before he remembered that the conversation hadn't even been in English.  Dean could sense Sam’s eyes darting back and forth between him and Cas, but Dean couldn't look at either of them.  He felt his face flushing, despite adamantly telling himself that nothing had been happening.  There was nothing to be embarrassed about, because there had been nothing to see.  He turned his eyes back to the sunset, but the sun had just slipped below the horizon and the sky was rapidly getting darker.

“It’s fine, Sam.  You didn't interrupt anything.  Guess I’m just jumpy.  What’s up?” Dean replied.

“Er, Cain wants to talk to Cas,” Sam mumbled.  Dean could tell that Sam hadn't believed a word he just said, which just pissed Dean off even more.  Especially since Dean was having a hard time believing himself too.  Not that he'd ever admit it.  Fortunately, Sam seemed to take a hint from Dean’s body language not to say anything more about the nothing he had walked in on.  Dean felt Cas give him a look before Cas wordlessly walked back into the church, but Dean ignored it.  If they weren't on a job, he probably would have just disappeared.


	42. If It Had Been Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! The Hellatus FINALLY ends today! *fireworks*

Sam had no idea what Cain had wanted to talk to Dean about, but he hadn't been particularly thrilled to leave Dean alone with him.  He’d spent the time sitting outside, casually chatting with Castiel, and keeping an ear out in case Dean needed him.  It was nice, talking with Castiel.  It took both of their minds off of everything else that was going on.  Even though Castiel had never been very chatty, he was getting better at holding conversations.  It was one of the many ways that Castiel’s brief time as a human had changed him.

When Dean had stepped out of the church, Sam had hopped right up to go back inside, giving Dean a small smile as he passed him.  Sam figured that Dean getting some alone time with Castiel would probably help cheer Dean up and get his mind off of everything else.  Castiel usually had that effect on Dean.  Thinking of the two of them made Sam smile fondly.  He wanted Dean to have that kind of happiness, and for once Castiel was sticking around and giving it to him.  Sam hoped that Castiel would stay even after they found a way to cure Dean.  The idea of how much Castiel leaving again would completely break Dean was something Sam didn't want to even think about.  It was something that kept getting worse every time Castiel took off to the point where Dean was never fully present anymore if Castiel wasn't around.  Sam wondered if he should try talking to Castiel about that sometime, since Dean’s ego was probably getting in the way of them having that conversation for themselves.

In any case, it was time to administer the next dose of blood to Cain.  The look in Cain’s eyes strongly reminded Sam of Crowley when he’d been crying about how he deserved to be loved, and his despair at wondering how he could even start to ask for forgiveness.  Sam wondered if Cain was having some of those same thoughts, and Cain probably had a lot more to ask forgiveness for than Crowley.  He tried to ignore the twinge of guilt that twisted in his gut.  Cain was mostly still having imaginary conversations with his dead wife, but he looked up and appeared completely lucid when Sam approached him.  It made sense to Sam – she was the only person who’d loved Cain despite him being a demon, and now more than ever Cain was longing for that connection.  Cain was probably desperate for forgiveness, and figured that she was the only one who would be willing to give it to him, even if she couldn't absolve any of his sins.  It was rather heart-breaking to watch.

“Whatever you did as a demon, you did because of the Blade.  You should try to think of this as a clean slate,” Sam told him after he gave him the shot of blood.

“Are you saying that for my benefit, or because that’s what you want to believe about whatever your brother has done as a demon?” Cain asked.  Sam didn't really know what to say to that.  He figured it was probably a mix of both, even if his primary concern was Dean.

“Sam,” Cain continued, his voice cracking a little bit.   “What I said to you before was cruel . . .”

“No, you were right – I wasn't there for him when he needed me most,” Sam interrupted, feeling irritated at Cain for patronizing him.  As much as the truth hurt, he’d rather have it than a pack of lies.

“That’s not entirely true,” Cain argued.  “I don’t know what happened between you two while Dean was still human, but the difference you've made on him since he turned into a demon is completely astonishing.  I take it you must have been around when he first changed and somehow prevented him from rapidly mentally descending into pure demonhood.  For me, I was probably completely demonic mentally within hours of the completion of my physical transformation.  The darkness of my twisted soul quickly warped me into something completely unrecognizable.  Something must have happened immediately after he became a demon that prevented him from falling down that dark hole.”  Sam’s eyes widened in shock.  Dean had reacted dramatically differently than Cain had from the start, and Cain thought that this somehow this was Sam’s doing?

“The first think that he did,” Sam mused, thinking back, “was to stop me from selling my soul to save him.”

“That would do it,” Cain replied with obvious surprise.  “Acts of selfless love are one thing that helps negate the Mark’s power, in this case, both his selfless love and yours.  If he hadn't felt the need to go protect you right then, he probably would have just disappeared and become someone else.  If you’d ever found him again, he no longer would have been your brother, and certainly would never have wanted to be saved.”  Sam’s blood felt ice cold in pure horror at the thought of Dean ever becoming like that.  According to Cain, this had been a much closer call than Sam had ever imagined.  Sam never would have suspected that trying and failing to sell his soul for Dean could have been a good thing.

“Still,” Cain continued.  “I doubt that I could have still had the presence of mind to do that after I was first turned, even if Abel had still been alive and in desperate need of saving.  Part of that might have been because of the complete despair I felt after being forced to kill Abel, which is part of what led me to attempt the suicide that turned me into a demon.  But I suspect that, rather than the difference here being just a sign of my weakness, that it ties back into Dean being the Righteous Man.  Those same qualities have likely weakened the Mark’s effects.”

“Righteous Man?  Wasn't that just about him breaking the first seal?” Sam asked, wincing at the memory.

“It allowed him to play that role as prophesied, yes, but I was more referring to traits that specifically made Dean qualify to play that part,” Cain explained with a note of exasperation.  “Had it just been a matter of being a member of our bloodline, selling your soul to save your brother, then spilling blood in Hell, then I could have qualified millennia ago and ended this world practically before it even began.  Now, I do not know all of the criteria, but I've heard rumors of parts of it.  It requires a soul that undergoes tremendous tragedy and hardship from a young age, and yet still devotes their entire life to selflessly saving others at a great personal cost.  You have no idea how rare that kind of purity is.  That is who he is at his core.  Keeping Dean grounded in your brotherly bond and his true self is how you can keep his humanity alive.”

Sam had never really analyzed what had made Dean the Righteous Man, but Cain’s description did really seem to completely fit Dean.  Sam had seen in Dean’s memories that even before the fire Dean had always had an inclination to help people, which had only gotten stronger as he had gotten older.  Sure, Sam had been raised like this kind of selfless sacrifice was not only normal but expected, however he’d had enough exposure to the real world to know that it wasn't.  It made Sam appreciate Dean all the more, even if Dean couldn't see that about himself.

“Let me speak with Castiel,” Cain asked Sam.  Cain’s eyes then glazed over again, and he went back to mumbling to his dead wife.  Sam knew that he wouldn't get any more out of him right now, but maybe Castiel would have better luck.

Sam paused at the door for a brief moment to make sure that he wasn't interrupting anything, and upon hearing nothing, he cracked the door open.  The door squeaked loudly.

For s split second, Sam caught a glimpse of Dean and Cas with their faces barely even a few inches apart.  Sam instantly wished that he could sneak away before either of them noticed him, but the stupid squeaky door had ruined all chances of that.  Dean jumped multiple feet like he’d been shot.

“I . . . I’m so sorry!” Sam sputtered, cursing his horrible timing.  “I didn't hear any talking, so, uh . . .”  Sam’s eyes darted back and forth between Dean and Cas, hardly believing what he’d walked in on.  While Sam had suspected that they might go this direction eventually (if they both stopped repeatedly sabotaging themselves), he hadn't expected it to happen now.  They’d been dancing around each other for years.  Why now?  Was it because Cas had never stayed around for this long before?

“It’s fine, Sam.  You didn't interrupt anything.  Guess I’m just jumpy.  What’s up?” Dean replied.  He really was a horrible liar when it came to personal matters.

“Er, Cain wants to talk to Cas,” Sam mumbled.  Castiel had immediately slipped his poker face back on, but he didn't look at Sam as he brushed by him.  Dean was acting completely mortified, although it was hard to read just from his back if that feeling came from Sam walking in on him almost kissing Castiel, or the fact that he had almost kissed Castiel.  Sam couldn't help but worry.  While this next step could be great for both of them, it was also risky.  If Dean made a move, and then freaked out, he would not only hurt Castiel but also derail himself while he was already in an extremely vulnerable state.  But Sam couldn't think of anything that he could do to help the situation.  Dean was giving off extremely strong vibes that he absolutely did not want to talk about this, leaving Sam stuck standing around in one of the most awkward silences that he’d ever had with his brother.  Sam decided that this was definitely going to be the next topic of his next confessional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the answer to everything is [chapter] 42, and [chapter] 40 is a biblical number (lol I’ll stop being meta now). Enjoy the Season 10 premier of the BEST SHOW EVER tonight! If you want to see me fan-gasm, check out @Psynatural.


	43. Colette's Influence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that season 10 has FINALLY started airing, this story is officially AU. I'm definitely curious to see where the canon version is going (my thoughts on the character arcs so far are available [here](http://psynatural.livejournal.com/1027.html)). Meanwhile, my own version will be continuing as previously mapped out. Thank you to all you wonderful readers for coming along for the ride!

Castiel thought that he could not have possibly read that situation the right way.  After all, he had once thought that his manager Nora had asked him out on a date, when in reality she had just wanted a babysitter.  Surely this was another one of those strange human nuances that Castiel had yet to figure out.  There was no way that Dean had almost kissed him.  It was not possible.

Clearly Castiel didn't know Dean quite as well as he’d thought.  Castiel had thought that he’d known Dean inside and out, better than anyone else had ever known him except Sam.  But this had clearly been something different than anything Castiel had ever seen from Dean before.  Part of him badly wanted to ask Dean about it, but Dean’s reaction when Sam had shown up had very clearly shown that to be a very bad idea.  Another part of Castiel felt a strange kind of fear that he had never felt before at the thought of trying to have this conversation with Dean.

Feeling slightly numb, Castiel tried to refocus on the new task at hand.  He tried to forget the feel of Dean’s warm breath on his skin.  He tried to forget how Dean’s tender smile had made Dean seem to just glow with happiness right before that door had squeaked.  Castiel was being uncharacteristically unsuccessful at redirecting his thoughts.  He frowned, thinking that this sort of distractedness was unbecoming of an angel of the lord who had an important task at hand.  Whatever had happened between him and Dean would have to wait.

Cain looked about the same as when Castiel had last seen him.  Watching him suffer was very unpleasant, especially since Castiel now felt an added layer of guilt for having done nothing to help Cain back when he had still been human.  The angel that Castiel had been back then was so different from who he was now.  Castiel would forever be grateful to Dean for teaching him how to stand up for what was right, and wished that he had met Dean much sooner.

“Castiel,” Cain greeted him.  “Did Dean ever tell you about my wife, Colette?”

“Yes,” Castiel affirmed, wondering if Cain was going to be coherent enough to have whatever conversation he had really wanted to have with Castiel.  “She is the human that you fell in love with, and the reason why you retired and killed off almost all of the other Knights of Hell.  Now, I believe that you had a reason for requesting me?”  Cain chuckled softly, and Castiel questioned his mental health.  The many doses of human blood seemed to have destabilized him somewhat.

“I was as dark as they came before I met her,” Cain mused, almost seemingly to himself.  “I have no idea what she ever saw in me, but from the moment we met she started to change me.  Unconditional love.  That was the key.  For the first time in millennia I regained most of my humanity to the point where I almost felt human again when I was with her.  I wanted to be that man for her.  Someone special like that can negate the majority of the mental effects of the Blade.”

“So you are confirming that Sam and I have been doing the right thing for Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Sam is comparable to what Abel was to me, albeit much more forgiving and supportive since Abel never believed me – that I only did what I had to in order to save him,” Cain continued.  “But you, Castiel – you are Dean’s Colette.”  Castiel stared at Cain in stunned silence for a moment.

“If you are implying a romantic involvement between Dean and I, he feels that I am a like a brother to him.  He has said as much many times,” Castiel replied tersely.  He could scarcely believe he was having this conversation with Cain, especially so soon after whatever had happened with Dean earlier.

“You can’t possibly be that dense you deluded part-angel!” Cain scoffed.  Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“If you are referring to my diminishing stolen Grace, then be assured that I still am fully angel,” Castiel told him furiously.  Cain just chuckled, which made Castiel angrier.

“No, not that, I was referring to your other recent transformation.  But if you haven’t noticed it yet, then I’m not going to spell it out for you.  Dean is probably too new to demonhood to have picked up on it yet either,” Cain replied.

“So you are implying that some new kind of physical transformation is happening to me,” Castiel said slowly, Cain’s words not quite having sunk in yet.

“Already took place.  It’s done, and there is no going back to what you were, even if you recover your true Grace,” Cain told him, sounding almost bored. 

Castiel felt overwhelmed.  He hadn't felt quite himself since he had “angeled up” (as Dean would say) by stealing Grace, but he had accredited that to the Grace not truly being his, and how he had personally changed while he had been human.  But apparently there was more to it than that, and this wasn't the first time that someone had said something to that effect.  Castiel was still haunted by Josiah’s last words: “You play at being one of us.  But I look into your eyes . . . and I don't see an angel staring back at me.”  He had found the sentiment very distressing, but now those words raised all kinds of new questions.  Why had this even happened – and exactly what had really happened?  If he wasn't a full angel, then what was he?  What did all of this mean for him?

“But that isn't what is important now,” Cain continued, interrupting Castiel’s thoughts and snapping him back into a whole different whirlwind of strange feelings.  “Like I said, you are Dean’s Colette.  I’d never even seen the two of you together before today, and still it would have been completely obvious even from the moment I saw you, even if I hadn't heard the rumors.  He doesn't look at you like a brother any more than you regard him that way.  Don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.  If you truly care about Dean then be honest with yourself and him, and be the man that he needs.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Castiel demanded.  Cain was hardly the first to call Castiel out on having feelings for Dean.  Dean had barely even climbed out of his grave before the accusations had started raining in, long before Castiel himself had been able to make sense of the strange new emotions that he felt towards Dean.  It had taken Castiel a very long time to start to grasp what these feelings meant.  Once he had realized what they were, he immediately tried to bury them.  Dean was only attracted to human females, not angels wearing male vessels.  Besides, Dean deserved much better than Castiel could ever hope to give him.  Castiel was too flawed, too broken.  Dean deserved someone perfect.  So Castiel had resigned himself to being Dean’s closest platonic friend (besides Sam), his family.  It was a position in Dean’s heart that he was deeply honored to fulfill.  So long as Dean had whatever was best for him, Castiel could be happy with that.

Castiel didn't know what to make of what Cain was suggesting.  He wasn't about to do anything to make Dean uncomfortable, or jeopardize the precarious position that Dean was currently in.  Castiel still couldn't quite believe that Dean really felt that way about him anyways.  Besides, wasn't Dean responding well to their attempts to regain a sense of “normal” and his connection to his old self?  Anything non-platonic with Castiel was certainly unknown territory for both of them.  Castiel felt confused, not sure what to do.  What was best for Dean – remembering who he is and retaining a strong sense of his old self, or unconditional love that truthfully was not entirely platonic?  If Castiel knew, he would do it in a heartbeat, no matter which one was the best for Dean.

“I’m telling you this,” Cain told him, “because I know that this is what Colette would have wanted me to do.  She would have wanted me to help you.”  A tear slid down Cain’s cheek as he said those words.  After all these doses of blood, Cain was mostly human now.  This must be one of his ways of doing something good to amend all of the evil in his past.  It was a drop in the ocean, but it was a start.  Castiel believed that Cain thought that he was giving Castiel good advice, even if Castiel wasn't sure of the right course of action. 


	44. Reverting

The atmosphere in the church had become uncomfortable.  Sam really wished that Dean – and maybe Castiel too – would just go back outside for a while until they were done here.  Instead, nobody was making eye contact with anyone else, and Dean was back to hovering over Sam and watching his every move.  Even though Dean was clearly still very pissed off, he always considered it to be his job to watch over Sam.  Fortunately, Sam hadn't shown any symptoms of the Trials flaring up again, and they were almost done.  Soon they would know if the demon cure would work on a Knight of Hell.

Cain was sweating profusely, but upon closer inspection, it was obvious that not all of the water on his face was from sweat.  His eyes were red and watering, and his breathing was uneven.  They were almost done with the blood doses now.  Castiel tried to offer Cain some water, but he was ignored.  Not that someone still partially demon needed water, but the kind gesture was considerate.  Even though Cain hadn't accepted the water, Sam tried to smile at Castiel to show him that his heart was in the right place.  It was something that the Castiel from a few years ago probably wouldn't have thought of because it was such a human thing to do.  Sam hadn't had much exposure to Castiel while he had been human or immediately afterwards, and was still marveling at how much the experience had changed him.  Sam also appreciated the fact that, even though Cain was technically their prisoner, he was not their enemy, and they all respected that important distinction.

Unfortunately, Cain had stopped trying to interact with any of them.  After whatever he’d said to Dean and Castiel, Cain had seemed to think that he was done with whatever he wanted to communicate.  It also seemed to have zapped him of his strength.  Now, he had withdrawn into himself.  Sometimes it wasn't clear if Cain was even still aware that anyone else was there.

After Sam gave Cain the seventh dose of blood, Sam noticed that Dean was getting more and more antsy and agitated.  Part of it might be a carry-over from what had almost happened between Dean and Castiel, but Sam had a feeling that it was more about their current situation.  Only one more dose of blood to go.  Dean kept glancing at both Cain and Sam with worry, but turning away any time Sam tried to make eye contact.  At the same time, Dean kept clenching his fists and scowling in a way that made it seem like it was all that he could do to not start punching things – or worse.  It had been awhile since Dean’s last kill, and all this stress was amping him up even more.  Dean probably wasn't even aware that his eyes had flicked black, which seemed to often be reflexive when his darker emotions were coursing strongly through him.  Those eyes always made Sam’s blood run cold, no matter how much he tried to hide his reaction from his brother.  Sam swallowed.

“What did Cain say to you?” Sam asked, speaking to Dean for the first time since his horrendous timing earlier.  Sam hoped that whatever Cain had said hadn't added to Dean’s stress.  Sure, Dean hadn't looked particularly upset immediately afterwards, but Sam still couldn't help but worry.  Besides, if it wasn't something upsetting, perhaps talking about it would get Dean’s mind off of other things.

“Nothing much, tell you about it later,” Dean brushed him off, not even looking at him.

“Dean . . . ,” Sam pleaded.

“Not now, Sammy!” Dean roared, sending his fist straight through the wall of the church.  A few shards of wood lodged themselves in Dean’s fist from the force of the impact.  The area immediately around where Dean’s fist had gone through crumbled too, and a long thin crack grew upwards halfway towards the ceiling.  Fortunately, no support beams had been hit, so the building still seemed stable.  A chilly breeze came through the newly ventilated wall.  An uneasy silence filled the room.  Dean was still breathing heavily, like he was trying to avoid venting out more of his frustrations by demolishing more of the wall.  Sam and Castiel exchanged worried glances, but Castiel seemed to be at a loss on how to help Dean right now.

“Those splinters make you look like a demonic porcupine,” Sam half-heartedly quipped, changing his tactic.  Dean’s eyes flicked back to green, and he glanced down at his hand where a few shards of the wall were lodged into his skin. 

“At least I don’t look like I’m gonna pass out from blood loss, bitch,” Dean retorted.

“Jerk,” Sam replied.  Some of the tension immediately left Dean’s shoulders at that word, and Sam smiled.  How long had it been since he and Dean had called each other bitch and jerk?  Too long.  Sam had almost forgotten they used to do that before his recent psychic dreams had started drumming up so many memories of the past.  Sam remembered making that little exchange with his brother ever since he’d been a little kid, since the days when he’d been too young to say cuss words without getting in trouble from any adults within earshot.  Remembering things like that was one of the best benefits of Sam’s returning psychic powers.  Those two little words held so many layers of meaning for both brothers.

Dean almost seemed to smile as he picked the splinters of wood out of his hand.  His Knight of Hell healing abilities were pretty amazing – much faster than an ordinary demon – and his hand was back to normal hardly before Sam could blink.  Sam knew his own loss of blood was also pretty insignificant compared to his large body.  But it felt good to tease with his brother again.  They hadn't been doing enough of that lately.

Castiel seemed puzzled by the exchange between the brothers, but also relaxed a bit at the result.  Sam mouthed the word “later” to him.  Castiel nodded back at Sam, but was clearly trying to analyze things out for himself.  However, despite how far Castiel had come in regards to understanding humans, Sam doubted that he was going to get this one on his own.  Had it really been so long since he and Dean had called each other bitch and jerk that even Castiel hadn't seen them do it?  That thought was rather mind-boggling, considering that Castiel had now been in their lives so long that it was getting hard to remember what life had been like without him.  Sam vowed to start taking notes of his dreams of the past for any other little brotherly moments that they used to do that he could reintroduce to Dean.

It was with that thought that Sam went in to his last confessional.  Perhaps the purity of his intent would amplify the way that confessing his sins was purifying his blood.  Sam thought of all the times that Dean had been down, and Sam hadn't found a way to bring him back up again, and vowed to try even harder in the future to always be there for his brother.  He pleaded with whatever higher powers could be listening that this would work.  This had to cure Cain, so then they would know it work on Dean.  Sam thought back to all the good times he had had with Dean, and desperately wanted them back.  He needed to believe that this was going to work.  After today, they would be one step closer to curing Dean.

It was time.

Sam took a deep breath, and headed back out into the main room of the church, filled syringe in hand.  Sam gestured towards his still non-glowing arms, but Dean didn't relax in the slightest as Sam walked over to Cain, who was still mumbling and seemingly oblivious.  Cain cringed and cried out when Sam injected him with the eighth and final dose of purified human blood.  Then, Cain’s wide eyes locked on Sam’s, and Cain seemed to snap back completely to the present moment.  Silence filled the room, and all eyes locked on Sam and Cain.  Time for the moment of truth. 

“Exorcizamus te,omnis immundus spiritus.  Hanc animam redintegra.  Lustra!  Lustra!” Sam recited, heart pounding.  Time to wash Cain’s soul clean.  Sam took out his knife, and sliced open the palm of his right hand.  He then placed his hand on Cain’s face, and was blinded by light.


	45. Success?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that chapter posting has -temporarily- slowed (pesky RL), but more is coming! Meanwhile, feel free to check out [my thoughts on s10e03](http://psynatural.livejournal.com/1714.html) and/or a rather weird [oneshot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2393678) I posted a few weeks ago, or just have some fun speculating what you think will happen in my story next!
> 
> Heh, over 70,000 words and counting - this is getting long... thanks to everyone who is along for the ride!

The light seemed brighter than on the old Men of Letter’s video, and seemed to last longer too.  Was it because they were curing a Knight of Hell, rather than an ordinary demon?  Or had something gone wrong?  Sam struggled to keep calm until the light eventually receded. 

Dean and Castiel were both immediately by his side, checking him over.  Satisfied when Sam appeared to be in good health and showed no signs of Trial juice, Castiel then went over to check on Cain.  Sam tried giving Dean a weak smile, but Dean was still too worried to return it.

“He’s alive, and fully human,” Castiel pronounced, and both Sam and Dean turned to look his way.  “He’s exhibiting symptoms of shock, but he’ll probably recover.  Cain’s cured!”

Relief overwhelmed Sam, and tears of happiness flowed down Sam’s face.  He actually did it.  He cured a Knight of Hell.  A huge emotional weight that he’d been carrying around dissolved, but with that loss of tension he felt his knees start to give out.

“Sammy!” Dean said, catching him before he could fall, and guiding him into a chair.  His look of concern was a stark contrast to the smile and tears on Sam’s own face.

“I was so worried that I wouldn't be able to do it,” Sam confessed, not carrying if Dean would hate a chick-flick moment.  “I've never been able to save you before.  Every time I've tried I've always failed – why would this time be any different?  I worried that something was going to go wrong.  Maybe the cure wouldn't work on Knights of Hell.  Or maybe I couldn't use my blood because of the Trial I failed to complete.  But don’t you see, Dean?  Now all we have to do is get rid of the Mark, then I can cure you!  I’ll finally get to save you!  You are going to be human again!”

Dean seemed speechless for once in his life, and stared back at Sam with wide eyes full of a swirl of emotions.  Dean’s eyes then flicked back over to Castiel and Cain.  Cain’s expression was wide eyed and frozen with shock, only the rising and falling of his chest indicating that he was still alive.  Castiel gave Dean a hopeful smile.  Sam expected Dean to smile back at Castiel and do their eye gazing thing for a while, but instead Dean turned back to look at Cain, and swallowed.

 

___

 

Dean stared at Cain.  His demonic face was completely gone, and only his human face remained.  He wasn't quite as surprised as Sam that the cure actually worked.  But the haunted, empty look in Cain’s wide eyes was chilling.  Was Cain really even still home in there?  Dean remembered the strong and confident demon that they’d kidnapped a few hours ago, and didn't see any trace of him in the human before them now.  Just what kind of side effects did the demon cure have?  The Men of Letters didn't exactly have follow up files on the one test subject who’d been successfully cured.

Cain wasn't saying anything, or making eye contact with anyone.  He was just staring out into space like he was no longer even aware of anyone else’s’ presence.  The thought was terrifying – to be cured of demonhood only to get locked inside your own body due to the shock.  Dean knew a thing or two about how shock could sometimes rob you of your ability to speak.  After the fire, it had taken months before Dean had started speaking again, and at first only to Sammy.  But that had seemed like a four year old's way to deal with extreme trauma, not the way a grown millennia-old man would.  How long would Cain be like this?  Would he even be able to recover from this?

Fear gripped Dean at the thought of how this could play out on him if he was ever cured.  Could he end up trapped inside his own mind for the rest of his life, with only his overwhelming human emotions to keep him company?  Was being a demon really so bad compared to that?

Sam seemed so happy and relieved at the “success” of the demon cure that Dean knew that he couldn't talk to Sam about his concerns.  Sam wouldn't understand this, even if Dean wanted to share his feelings (which he hardly ever did anyway).  Besides, Dean had no doubt that if they managed to find a way to get rid of the Mark, then Sam would stop at nothing to cure him regardless of whatever he said. 

Dean was also still reeling from Sam’s words.  Sam had never been able to save him?  That was crap.  Sure, during the cosmically-big events in their lives, Sam hadn't saved him from things like Hell and Purgatory, but Sam saved him all the time on routine hunts.  Besides, it was Dean’s job to save Sam, not the other way around.  Dean hadn't realized just how much of a complex that Sam had developed over the topic.

The clouds outside burst, and a downpour ensued.  Dean noticed that Sam shivered slightly in the draft coming in through the hole that Dean had punched in the wall, but Dean felt too numb to feel the cold himself. 

“We should get back to the bunker before we are tracked here,” Castiel suggested.  He seemed concerned that Dean wasn't more excited over the “success” of the mission, and Dean realized that he was going to have to fake it better.

It didn't take long for them to gather up all the things that they had brought to the church.  Cain just sat in the same chair, even after they untied him, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing.  They broke the devil’s trap so that Dean could move freely, but didn't bother removing any of the warding.  Once they were all ready to go, they gathered in a circle around Cain, and Dean teleported them all back to the bunker.

They hadn't really ever discussed what to do with Cain once he was cured – one step at a time and all.  But looking at Cain now one thing was clear – Cain was in no condition to be on his own right now.  They’d done this, so they were responsible for him.

“He’s just in shock, but he seems like a strong guy.  He should bounce back.  Let’s let him stay here for a few days and then he can get back on his feet,” Sam suggested.  The Winchesters weren't used to dealing with the aftermath and survivors of the things that they did, so they felt a little out of their depth.  Sam was clearly trying to sound confident about Cain’s chances of a full recovery, but Dean knew that tone of voice.  Sam was trying to reassure him of something that he himself had doubts about.  Dean wished that Sam would cut the crap and not try to sugar coat this for him.  As more time went by, everyone was getting more uneasy about the lack of response from Cain.

In the meantime, they cleaned out one the empty bedrooms for Cain to use.  Everyone agreed that, human or not, there was absolutely no way that they were going to let Cain have free range of the bunker.  There was no telling what he could get into.  So they kept the door locked, except for giving Cain options for food and bathroom breaks.  Cain continued to ignore them.

 

___

 

Crowley examined the now-abandoned church with interest.  It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened here.  Dean and his posse spending just over 8 hours in an old church with a devil’s trap on the floor?  They’d clearly tried to cure a demon.  As to who, well that wasn't hard to figure out either.  Dean’s last stop before coming here had been at a house surrounded by bee yards.  There weren't enough clues left behind to determine if Cain had survived the transformation, but either way, Crowley was pretty sure that the outcome had affected Dean.  Dean was probably vulnerable right now.  This idea was supported by a suspiciously fresh hole in the wall, which unlike the other cracks in the building showed no signs of aging and was a little bigger than Dean’s fist.  Temper, temper.  Crowley knew that the Mark would make Dean’s anger management issues harder and harder to control.  In any case, Crowley know that it was best to get out of the area before the halo patrol showed up.  The storm outside was raging in full force now, so it was just a matter of time before those pompous dicks showed up.  Besides, Crowley had learned all he could from the church.

It was time to try texting Dean.  Crowley grinned.  Sure, a mere text message didn't have the same kind of compelling power that the coin did.  It couldn't literally ring in Dean’s ears until he felt like his head would explode.  But Crowley had already planted the necessary seeds with that coin.  Dean had felt how wonderful owning someone’s soul could feel, and had felt the rush of that power.  In his vulnerable state, could he resist such an allure?  Crowley was prepared to keep pushing until he couldn't.  Even Dean had his breaking points, and they were never about protecting himself.


	46. Shaken

Dean knew that he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding how much things with Cain had shaken him.  Sam and Cas were both on to him.  Not that he was ever very good at hiding things from those two anyways, but he hoped to at least avoid talking about it.

His phone buzzed to announce the arrival of a new text message.  Dean was initially relieved for the distraction, until he saw the “666” on the caller ID.  Crowley was the last person Dean needed to see right now, but Dean checked the message anyway.  It was a new set of coordinates followed by a curt “You know the drill.”

Dean paled.  He’d let his guard down after Cas had destroyed the coin, but Crowley obviously wasn't giving up.  Someone was going to Hell today if Dean didn't show up and offer them a better deal.  It was killing him.  The hunter in him wanted to save everyone and couldn't stand the idea of sitting idly by while someone sold their soul.  The demon in him couldn't stop thinking about the power that soul had.  He was practically salivating at the thought of all that power coursing through his veins.  Every part of Dean, for one reason or another, was itching to run off and meet Crowley so he could make that deal.

But then there was Sam and Cas.  Dean knew that he’d be disappointing them both if he went, but it was more than that.  Cas had already proved his willingness to hurt himself in order to keep Dean from making deals, and Dean had no doubt that Sam would be willing to do the same.  He wasn't really sure what they could do this time – take away his phone?  Lock him up?  He couldn't put them in that position.

Another fear had emerged as well.  If Sam did manage to cure him in the future, then that would mean he would one day have to feel the full weight of what he’d done as a demon.  For now, all his negative feelings about things like taking souls and not protecting innocents – those feelings were still somewhat there, but they were muted to the point where, if he chose to let them go, then he might stop feeling them entirely.  But if he went through the demon cure?  All of that would hit him in full force.  Could he pull through that, or would he end up trapped in his own head like Cain?  The less evil he did as a demon, the better chance he had of coming out of this.  While Dean no longer trusted his own moral compass, he trusted Sam and Cas, and they had told him not to do it.

 

___

 

Sam’s initial elation after curing Cain was dying down a bit after seeing how freaked out Dean was.  Dean didn't seem to get that a demon who’d spent millennia committing horrific acts of evil was going to need a bit more adjustment time to becoming human again than Dean would.  Other than both being Knights of Hell, their situations were completely different as far as Sam was concerned.  Dean probably wouldn't go into such a deep state of shock when he was cured.  Dean hadn't yet done anything truly horrible as a demon that he would need to atone for, and if Sam had anything to say about it, Dean would never even have that chance.  Sam wanted to try to talk to Dean about it, but Dean scurried away any time that Sam so much as looked at him the wrong way.  But enough was enough.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam interrupted the way that Dean was frowning intently at his phone.  Dean jumped and looked up at him with a startled deer-in-the-headlights look for a split second before Dean covered it up and composed himself in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

“Dude, I am way out of practice at Angry Birds,” Dean quipped.  Sam didn't buy that for a second.  Dean was obviously intent on something else bad on his phone that he wasn't sharing.  But whatever it was, Sam figured that it was less important than Dean’s freak out over Cain, so he decided to let it slide.

“Dean, you get that you wouldn't react as severely to the cure as Cain is, right?  He probably barely even remembers what it was like to be human the first time around, and then he spent millennia committing atrocities.  This was bound to be a big adjustment for him.  But for you, you haven’t lost sight of yourself.  It will be easier for you to switch back because it wasn't that long ago that you were human,” Sam told him.  He really hoped that his words were getting through to Dean, but Dean still wasn't making eye contact.

“Seems like it,” Dean mumbled, and Sam felt his heart break a little more at those words.  The truth was that the days when they were both human really felt like long ago and far away to Sam too, but that was the last thing that Dean needed to hear right now.  Dean needed to feel hope that they could have that again.

“Perhaps I could take Dean out for drinks?” Castiel interrupted, startling Sam because he hadn't realized that the angel was listening in.  “You and Cain both need some sleep after everything you've gone through.”  Dean grunted an agreement with that plan, so Sam sighed and nodded.  Getting Dean out of the bunker and giving him a distraction would probably do him some good, at least in the short term.  Eventually Dean would have to deal with this, but perhaps Sam could make it easier for him by the time he got back.  If Sam could figure out a way to get Cain walking, talking, and acting alive again, then that would help relieve some of Dean’s anxiety issues.

 

___

 

Cain felt like he was drowning in darkness.  Pain.  He had caused so much pain when he’d been a demon.  He’d enjoyed it too.  For millennia, he’d relished in the pain of others.  Torturing people, destroying lives, turning good people into empty shells – all of that had been sport for him.  How could he have done all of that?  How could he have enjoyed that?

He’d known that he was a monster, known but not cared – not really.  For Colette, he’d wanted to change and be a better person for her sake, but not for his own sake.  He hadn't really ever been able to bring himself to care about his countless victims.  Being a monster was all he’d ever known for the majority of his existence, and he’d long since come to terms with that.  It had been his place in the world, his niche, where he belonged in the grand scheme of things.  It was what he was good at.  He’d never quite understood how the power of Colette’s love had gotten him to turn away from all that, but he’d accepted that.  He’d embraced who she’d wanted him to become, even if it went against all of his demonic instincts.  She was worth it.  Even after he lost her, he still wanted to be that person for her.

But now – all the pain that he’d inflicted was reflecting right back onto him.  Demons lacked much empathy, but humans didn't.  For the first time in millennia, he actually cared about people who had been hurt.  He felt the suffering if each of his victims as if it was his own.  An endless loop of all of the evil he’d done flashed before his eyes.  As a result, he had fallen into a black hole of pain and suffering.  He deserved to be here.  Occasionally he was partially aware of other people trying to interact with him, but they wouldn't understand.  He was beyond redemption and needed to suffer the consequences of what he’d done.

“Since you’re human now, you have to eat,” a voice tried to interrupt his dark thoughts.  Sam, the back of his mind supplied.  There was a new smell that made his body’s stomach react.  Food.  The smell of the soup brought back memories of Colette cooking something like that.  It was something that she liked to eat when she wasn't feeling well, so she had eventually taught Cain to cook it for her when she was sick.  The memories jolted Cain out of his self-hatred spiral, and he turned to look at the soup in Sam’s hands.

“I know you’re out of practice and all, but generally when your stomach grumbles like that it means you are hungry,” Sam told him, and held out the bowl of soup to Cain.  Cain stared at the soup for a moment, but then reached out and took it.  Hunger.  He was used to the feeling of emptiness inside, but as a demon the need to fill it was akin to the need to kill.  Hunger for actual food seemed strange, but he vaguely remembered the feeling from another life very long ago.

When the taste of the soup hit his tongue, he was practically overwhelmed with the flavor.  He had forgotten what taste was like.  Well, the taste of anything but blood and alcohol anyways.  He practically choked because of all the new sensations and reactions his body was having to the food.  Cain felt Sam saying and doing things to try to calm him down and sooth him into his first few bites of food.  It got easier, but no less strange, and somewhat wondrous.  It was certainly more than he deserved.  His body’s stomach gained a strange sense of satisfaction and fullness from the soup.  Cain was vaguely aware that Sam had kept talking throughout his meal.  Something about how Sam could relate to having to deal with having done horrible things, since Sam had once almost ended the world.  Cain wasn't really listening.  He felt his body’s eyelids grow heavy, and he laid down on the bed.  The world slowly started fading away to darkness.


	47. The Road is Not So Straight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more hours until episode 200 airs! *fangasms* This definitely calls for pie! Hope to see another 200 episodes!
> 
> Thanks for being patient with the chapter-posting slow-down (RL is annoying that way) - I'm going to try to move back up to posting twice a week.
> 
> Meanwhile, I got around to adding a [Supernatural pop-up book](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2587850) that I made for GISHWHES to Ao3. Check it out!

Even though Dean was still feeling a bit awkward around Cas, he welcomed the distraction from Cain and from Crowley’s text message.  So he picked a random bar and teleported the two of them there.

“I’ll get the drinks – you can find us a table,” Cas offered.  Dean had been pretty successful at teaching Cas about different kinds of drinks and how to order at bars, and Cas was enthusiastic about showing Dean how far he’d come.  The bar was somewhat crowded, but Dean spotted a small empty booth over by the wall, so he headed over quickly to claim it before someone else got it.

“Hey there!  Can I buy you a drink?” Dean had barely even sat down before a tall guy with his dark hair in a long ponytail approached him with a wink.

“Sorry pal, but I don’t . . . ,” Dean’s usual line about not swinging that way died in his throat when the image of vivid blue eyes shining in the light of the setting sun sprang into his mind.  Dean shook his head to unsuccessfully clear his head.

“. . . . I’m not interested,” Dean finished lamely.  The disappointed guy walked away.

For the majority of his life, Dean had never even questioned that he was completely straight.  Plenty of other guys had looked at him, but he hadn't looked back.  He sincerely loved being with girls, and had never felt the need to probe his psyche any deeper than that.  But then someone had come along and turned his whole world around in every way.  Even though Dean had died and been resurrected many times, that was the one he considered to be his second lease on life, the one that had really changed him.  That was also the time when he’d discovered his strange yet powerful connection to his savior.

Dean wasn't usually one to explore his feelings, so he just took things with Cas as they came.  He let himself enjoy how easy and natural things were with Cas.  Why put one of the few good things in his life under a microscope?

Then came a time when Dean had been so raw and alone that he hadn't had anything to hide behind anymore.  When Dean had arrived in Purgatory with Cas, he’d barely had a chance to process what had happened before he’d found himself completely alone and cut off from everyone he’d ever known.  All he could think about was finding Cas, and then figuring out a way home to Sammy.  But before he could get very far, the alcohol withdrawal hit him like a freight train.  Dean had been aware of his growing alcohol problem, sure, but he hadn't realized just how bad it’d gotten until the withdrawal all but completely incapacitated him.  Amidst all of the shaking and hallucinations, many of Dean’s carefully built emotional walls had come crashing down. 

In his desperation to find Cas, he’d realized that not all of his thoughts towards his best friend were entirely platonic.  That revelation had been a stronger shock than the withdrawal.  At first Dean had tried to pass it off as a sign of just how messed up he was because of the withdrawal, but it had persisted even after he’d physically recovered.  So he’d gone back to his usual MO – repress his feelings like they weren't there.  Pretend that the way he wanted to hold Cas was the same way he wanted to hold Sammy.  He’d once told Cas that he was like a brother to him, and Cas had told him that he felt the same way.  Now, finding Cas and getting them both home was the most important thing.  Dean could figure out how to deal with his confusing feelings later, if ever.  Still, Dean hadn't missed just how completely overjoyed he’d been when he’d finally found Cas again, and how he’d let himself indulge just a little in the way that he’d hugged Cas, too happy to care about how it came across.

During their months of separation, Dean had stubbornly clung to the belief that Cas was searching for him as much as he was searching for Cas.  He’d hoped that his nightly prayers to Cas were as much of a comfort to Cas as they were to Dean.  But Cas leaving Dean to protect him – that Dean had understood, even if he hadn't liked it.  On the other hand, Cas not believing that Dean could get them all out of there – that had stung.  Cas had caught Dean looking at him strangely a few times, but there was no way Dean was having that conversation, especially not in front of Benny.  Then the worst thing that Dean could imagine happened, and Dean wasn't able to get Cas out of Purgatory.  Part of Dean had permanently broken that day.  The fact that Dean had been so shattered as to twist his own memory of the events was another topic that Dean refused to explore.  He’d taken up drinking again.  Dean would never admit it to anyone, but one time when he was alone and completely hammered, he’d actually cried when Cowboy Junkies’ “Angel Mine” came on the radio.

Eventually Cas had miraculously returned, but before Dean could heal Cas had left him again.  Dean had taken that as a sign to bury any non-platonic feelings as deep as he could.  It wasn't like Cas would ever stay anyway.  Still, there came one dark moment in a crypt when a Naomi-controlled Cas was beating Dean to death, that in his desperation Dean had almost admitted to Cas (and himself) how much he loved him.  But that had been the last straw, Cas leaving him again after that, and Dean had buried his feelings so deeply that he never thought they’d see the light of day again.  There had been a few flickers since then, such as watching Cas die again, and watching Cas go on his first date, but Dean quickly squashed those before he let himself feel anything.

However, lately Dean’s old repression tactics weren't working as well anymore.  For one thing, Dean as a demon was being forced to realize and analyze all of his thoughts and feelings more so than he’d ever had to before.  Doing so was a necessity to keep aware of his new demonic instincts versus who he “really” was inside.  Dean was getting in the habit of double-checking everything he thought and did to ensure that he didn't fall down the wrong path.  On the other hand, this was the longest that Cas had ever stuck around.  It was harder to repress his feelings when Cas was always there, and supporting him despite everything.

It really shouldn't have surprised Dean that in his weakened state he had let his guard down enough to almost kiss Cas, but Dean hated himself all the more for it.  Even if Cas was sticking around this time, he deserved far better than Dean, a twisted worthless demon who had become a burden on those he cared about most.

Dean was interrupted from his thoughts when Cas arrived with the drinks.  The man who’d been hitting on Dean earlier took one look at Dean and Cas sitting together and gave him a very knowing smile.  Dean scowled.  Even if some part of him was being forced to acknowledge that his feelings existed, that didn't mean he was comfortable with them, or willing to act on them.  Besides, it wasn't like Cas would reciprocate.  Cas had kissed Meg, slept with April, and (tried to) date Nora – all women.  Cas had told him he saw him like a brother.  Dean would never do anything to jeopardize that.

Cas seemed as oblivious as always to the looks that the two of them were getting.  Ponytail dude wasn't sitting close enough to eavesdrop, but he and a few of his buddies were whispering to each other while casting amused looks in Dean’s direction, which irked Dean.  He had half a mind to introduce them to his fist, but didn't want to have to explain the situation to Cas.  Dean had no idea why people were so quick to assume that he and Cas were a couple.  Perhaps it had to do with the intensity of the way that Cas stared at Dean, although that was really just Cas being Cas.  Tonight though Cas seemed to be troubled by something he was pondering over while studying Dean, and Dean really hoped that it wasn't because Cas had somehow picked up on some of his stray thoughts.


	48. Always Disappointing Him

“Dean,” Cas interrupted his thoughts, seemingly oblivious to the guy still watching them.  “Have you noticed anything different about me?”

“What?” Dean asked, caught off guard and flushing a little at the question.

“Something different about me since the time when I was a human,” Cas repeated.  Thousands of little things flashed through Dean’s mind, from being more prone to hugging and other physical contact to suddenly getting pop culture references.

“Uh, you seem to get more about humans and can relate better now that you've been one of them,” Dean replied.  Cas frowned at Dean’s use of “them” instead of “us” but didn't press him on it.  Dean was partially relieved because he hadn't even realized he’d phrased it that way until he’d already said it, but really didn't want Cas to go all Sigmund Freud on him right now.

“I meant, something that your demon senses can pick up on now that you couldn't before,” Cas clarified.

“Well,” Dean began awkwardly, still not really sure what Cas was getting at, “now you kind of, well, glow.”  Dean gestured towards Cas’ whole body.  He hoped that Cas understood that he meant in the literal sense, not . . . . any other type of way.

“No, that would be my halo.  Supernatural beings and some special humans can perceive it as a glow surrounding angels,” Cas explained somewhat distractedly, clearly troubled by something.  “But Cain implied that some part of me has become physically different from other angels, and that demons could sense what it is.”  Dean quickly silenced the part of his mind that was disappointed that Cas wasn't the only angel that glowed like that.  Cas was looking at Dean hopefully, but Dean was stumped.

“Sorry Cas, but I've got no idea.  Other than the glowy halo thing, and the times you've shown me your true form and voice, my senses perceive you no differently than I perceive Sam.  Although I don’t really know what to look for since, as a demon, I haven’t encountered any other angels yet,” Dean told him.  He hated himself for not being able to give Cas a more helpful answer.  It wasn't often that Cas came to him for help, and when he did, Dean usually managed to let him down.  It was amazing that Cas had stuck around Dean for this long, and he still might move on when he found a better option.  Dean clearly remembered the time when Cas had admitted to coming to Dean because he was the only one who would help him.  Dean started trying to come up with a plan to get more answers for Cas about his current predicament, which would require some face time with another angel.

“I’m not letting other angels anywhere near you.  This isn't worth that,” Cas growled at him, as if sensing the direction Dean’s thoughts had taken.  “I, on the other hand, need to make contact again.”

“Wait, what?  Aren't you on their chopping block too – ‘dead or alive’, you said!” Dean argued angrily.

“Porosa has been a big help so far, and could continue to be a valuable source of information,” Cas replied evenly.  But Cas wasn't meeting Dean’s eyes, and seemed fascinated with his bottle of beer, which was doing nothing to alleviate Dean’s worries.

“Well if you think she is so legit, then why can’t I come along?” Dean demanded.  He’d always had a hard time trusting any angel except Cas, and it didn't help that the last angel that he’d trusted had murdered Kevin and kidnapped his brother.  Dean also had reason to suspect that Cas had been betrayed by more of his brothers and sisters than he’d ever disclosed to Dean.  Cas’ poker face wasn't as good as he'd thought it was the last time that Dean had asked about Rachael, another one of Cas’ so-called-friends that Dean had not been the least bit impressed with the one time they’d met.  In any case, it didn't bode well for Cas running off to meet with other angels by himself.  Dean would feel much better if he could be there to watch Cas’ back.

“What part of ‘I’m not letting any other angels anywhere near you’ did you not understand, Dean?” Cas snapped back.

“You expect me to just sit back while you go meet with her alone?” Dean yelled, crushing his beer bottle in his hand in his anger and not caring when the broken glass sliced his hand up.  Rage filled him, and he wanted nothing more than to unleash it on the whole room.  But years of hunter instincts telling him not to make a scene in a public place were screaming at him to regain his cool.  From the hushed silence in the bar after his loud outburst, he already was doing a bad job at staying low profile.  Dean got up to leave.

“Dean . . . ,” Cas began, with a softer tone than before.  He reached to grab Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m going to get some air,” Dean snapped back, slapping away Cas’ outstretched hand with more force than he meant.  Even without looking at Cas, Dean could tell that he was giving him his kicked puppy look.  But Dean couldn't let it get to him.  He didn't need or want Cas to protect him by locking him out of harm’s way while risking Cas’ own safety.  Hadn't Dean been responsible for Cas’ death enough times?  But even if Porosa was the real deal – and Dean considered that to be a big if – he still didn't like the idea of Cas meeting her alone.

Dean stormed out of the bar and into the parking lot.  Cas took the hint and didn't follow him.  Dean tried to breathe through his anger, but it was hard.  He’d always had a quick temper, but it had gotten even worse as a demon.  Rage felt so natural, pure, and right – trying to stifle that was killing him.  It was extremely tempting to at least destroy a few cars, particularly any of the plastic pieces of crap that were littering the parking lot.  His demon instincts kept telling him that he’d feel better if he could hit something, even if it wasn't the douche-bag angels he really wanted to pummel.

But Dean tried to think about how he’d feel about the situation if Sam managed to cure him.  He might not feel guilty now, but racking up more guilt trips he’d have to revisit during the demon cure was not a good idea.  He didn't want to end up like Cain.  The thought of that fear helped distract him from the rage a little bit.  Breathe.  Dean started mumbling to himself under his breath, trying to get himself under control.

He heard the door behind him open, and when he turned to look he saw ponytail guy and his buddies.  Great – he didn't need this.

“Tough break there,” ponytail guy said sympathetically, “with your guy wanting to date a girl.”

Something inside Dean snapped at those words, and all of the self-control he was trying to regain just flew right out the window.  Before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself on top of ponytail guy and beating the life out of him.  Ponytail guy’s nose was broken, and his face was a bloodied mess.  There were shouts all around him as ponytail guy’s friends tried to pull him off, but Dean fought back.  He was strong enough to take them all on, and man did he want to.  It felt so good to lash out and inflict pain.  It felt so much better than acknowledging or feeling any of his own shit.

Dean heard the bar door open again and froze – he knew without looking that it was Cas.  He must have heard the commotion.  The men he’d been fighting took Dean’s pause as a chance to grab ponytail guy and make a break for it.  Dean was pretty sure that he’d dislocated one guy’s arm, another guy was limping pretty badly, ponytail guy was unconscious, and there were probably numerous broken ribs and other injuries.  But as Dean watched them go, he couldn't feel any guilt over his momentary loss of control.  Even though he knew that they were innocent and had done nothing wrong, he still couldn't bring himself to care  On the contrary, the demon in him wanted to pursue them and finish what he’d started, but at least that feeling was somewhat dampened Cas’ presence. 

The look of worry that Cas was giving him felt like a dagger.  Dean knew that he had managed to disappoint Cas again, but that wasn't the primary emotion that he saw in Cas now.  Cas could see that he was slowly losing Dean, that Dean was slowly losing the fight to control his demonic instincts.

All of the commotion was starting to draw a crowd, and Dean heard sirens in the distance.  Time to go.  Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and pulled him away to go teleport away somewhere more private.  Add one to the list of bars that he could never go back to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are in the mood for some Supernatural holiday spirit, might I recommend:
> 
> \- **[AVerySPNXMas Secret Santa](https://twitter.com/AVerySPNXMas)** on twitter, **sign-up deadline Nov 30** , create any type of art, story, video, poetry, etc. (basically anything you think your giftee would like) for online exchange
> 
> \- **[Dean/Cas Secret Santa](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dcss2014/signups/new)** here on Ao3, **sign-up deadline TODAY Nov 20** , submit 3 prompt ideas to your santa and chose from the categories of fanfic, fanart, and videos. Very detailed matching system for santas and giftees to match interests. More info [here](http://deancas-xmas.livejournal.com/140484.html).
> 
> Also, naming chapters is clearly not my specialty, so if you have any ideas for any of my unnamed chapters, let me know.


	49. Walls to Break

Sam’s dream easily conjured up memories of Gabriel.  After all, he’d had plenty of nightmares about mystery spot before.  Sometimes his subconscious-self seemed to temporarily forget that he wasn't still back there, being forced to watch Gabriel kill his brother over and over again.  But tonight Sam was lucid enough to remember that it was just a dream, and that he was here on a mission – he needed to figure out how to find Gabriel in the present time so he could remove the Mark from Dean.  Kali still hadn't shown up with any new leads on Gabriel, but in the meantime Sam wasn't willing to just sit around and do nothing.

With some gentle nudging, the memories in the dream sped forward, leading up to and passing through Gabriel’s tragic and heroic “death” and the years of radio silence since then.  Sam still had no clue how Gabriel could be alive after facing Lucifer, but that wasn't his current mission so he left that question alone for now. 

Sam’s mind felt something up ahead that felt related to his quest, so he eagerly surged ahead.  But just as Sam was almost there, he suddenly felt the sensation of being mentally slammed into a brick wall. 

Sam sat up, now awake with a start, breathing heavily.  What the hell was that?  He’d never encountered anything else like that in any of his previous dreams.  What’s more is that it had actually hurt – the first of his visions to hurt since his visions had returned.  Sam didn't know what to make of it.  But exhausted as he was, he didn't think he could go back to sleep tonight after that.  He figured he might as well get up, pop some aspirin, then start looking for a new hunt for Dean.  He could try lucid dreaming again tomorrow night.

 

___

 

Castiel was more shaken by Dean’s behavior than he was trying to let on.  He hadn't seen Dean attack innocent people since he’d rescued Dean from Hell (where some of the souls that Dean had tortured had made crossroads deals like himself, and were likewise undeserving of being there).  He knew that Dean was having trouble controlling his demonic impulses, but this had really shown that the problem was getting worse over time.  At least Castiel’s presence had had an immediate effect on Dean.  Castiel didn't want to test if he could restrain Dean if necessary.  He thought that he could now, but as his grace got weaker that might not be possible in the future.

Dean locked himself in his bedroom as soon as they got back to the bunker, refusing to talk about what had happened.  It had been awhile since Dean had shut him out, but it was just as painful as it always was, coupled with the fear that he was slowly losing Dean.  Why had Dean gotten so angry?  Castiel had gone alone to get information from Porosa before and Dean hadn't seemed to mind.  Regardless, Dean’s behavior tonight was harsh reminder of another reason why it was a very bad idea to let the two of them meet.  The last time that Castiel had let Dean interact with friendly angels, it had ended with those angels demanding that Castiel kill Dean.  Castiel knew that it wasn't fully Dean’s fault – the Mark, and now his demonhood too, made his aggression nearly uncontrollable.  But Castiel knew that his siblings wouldn't understand that.  They didn't know Dean the way that he did.  So as long as Dean was a demon, Castiel needed to keep him far away from any situations requiring diplomacy, or risk losing one of the few potential allies that they had.

Castiel had no idea how he sat quietly, lost in his own troubled thoughts, before Sam stumbled groggily into the room.  It was still only about 4:30 in the morning, so Castiel was surprised to see Sam already.

“Sam?  Is everything alright?  Is Cain . . . ?” Castiel asked.

“He’s a bit better, actually.  I got him to eat some soup, and I dosed it with sleeping pills to help him have a dreamless sleep.  He should be out for at least a few more hours,” Sam told him.  “Then I tried to use the same lucid dream technique that I used to find Cain, to find Gabriel.  No such luck so far, but then again I didn't get Cain on my first try either.” 

Castiel frowned as he watched Sam down some aspirin.  He had been under the impression that Sam’s current visions weren't hurting him.  However, what Sam was doing might prove necessary to save Dean, so Castiel needed to trust Sam to know what he could handle.  Still, Castiel would try to keep an eye on Sam to keep him from going too far.

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asked, frowning.

“In his bedroom.  He got very angry when I told him that he couldn't come with me to get more information from Porosa.  Then I heard screams outside the bar, and found Dean beating up a few civilians,” Castiel relayed to Sam.  Sam’s eyes grew wide and he bit his lip as he processed the information.

“Shit,” Sam said, the pain on his face saying all the things that he couldn't put into words.

“My presence still seems to help him, but I am uncertain on how to best proceed from here.  We've been operating under the assumption that familiar things would help keep Dean’s connection to his true self alive,” Castiel told him.  “However, Cain seemed to have a different theory.  One where he, uh, referenced someone who helped bring back the humanity in him . . . .”  Castiel trailed off, unsure how to break the news to Sam that he had not only fallen in love with Sam’s brother, but that Cain thought that Dean actually loved him back in the same way.  Castiel was still relatively new to the wide range of human emotions, and had no idea how Sam would react to such a new topic. 

“What, did he compare you to Colette or something?” Sam asked, and Castiel knew that the look on his face gave Sam all the confirmation he needed that his theory was correct.  “Makes sense.  In a way you already have been playing that role for him for a long time.  If you’re wanting to more openly fill that role, well, that could work if Dean is ready to finally admit his feelings.”

Castiel gaped at Sam, struck completely speechless.  Sam already _knew_ about Castiel’s feelings!  He never could have imagined that Sam would react so casually about all of this.  What’s more, Sam also seemed to think that Dean _reciprocated_ Castiel’s feelings!  More hope than he had previously dared to let himself have flared up in Castiel’s heart, and he desperately wanted that to be true.  If anyone knew what Dean was really feeling, it would be Sam, right?

“How . . . ?” Castiel began, unsure where to even start with the million questions spinning through his mind.  Sam snorted, and Castiel felt a twinge of annoyance that Sam was somehow finding this amusing.

“You guys haven’t exactly been subtle about it,” Sam told him with a bit of a smirk.  “Just about every angel, demon, or monster we've come across has picked up on it.  Hell, according to Charlie, even a substantial number of the fans of the Supernatural books have seen it just from the descriptions of you two, and none of them have ever had to watch you guys eye-fucking all the time.  But at the rate you two were moving forward, I was beginning to think that the next ice age would come and go before either of you admitted it.” 

_Eye-fucking_?  Castiel didn't quite get what that meant, as he was quite certain that eyes weren't built for that, and he certainly didn't partake in any activities that could potentially hurt Dean’s beautiful emerald eyes.  He assumed that it was an expression with a far less literal meaning, and Sam’s underlying message was clear enough.  Even though Sam’s words sounded exasperated, they were said with great fondness.  Then there was the way that Sam couldn't stop grinning.

“I have your blessing?” Castiel asked, sensing the answer but wanting to hear it for himself.

“Dude – do you even have to ask?  You are already family to both of us, and you make Dean unbelievably happy.  You both deserve this,” Sam told him.  Castiel was touched by Sam’s warm words, but still felt the flutters of nervousness.

“You really think that Dean feels the same?” Castiel asked.

“Absolutely,” Sam replied without hesitation.  “I can’t say if he is ready to admit to his feelings, since he can be a stubborn idiot sometimes, and I don’t know if the timing is right with everything else that is going on.  But I do know that there is no such thing as perfect timing, especially with our crazy lives.  Just try to find a time when he seems like he’d be receptive.”  Such simple advice, but Castiel had no idea how he was going to follow it.


	50. Convulsion

Castiel wished that he could have at least said goodbye to Dean before he left to go meet Porosa.  He’d knocked repeatedly on Dean’s door, and tried talking to Dean through the door, trying to explain that he wasn't mad at Dean, but hadn't gotten any response at all.  Since Dean didn't need to eat, he hadn't ventured out of his room at all either.  But if Dean was insisting on pouting, then Castiel wasn't going to just wait around and do nothing – he’d take another plane out to Idaho to meet Porosa.  He told Dean to call him when he was ready to talk.  He hoped that Dean would be willing to teleport out to see him later after he’d cooled down.  Even though it hadn't been that long since he’d seen Dean, Cas missed Dean terribly, and that conversation with Sam had just made that ache in his chest even stronger.

 

___

 

Sam knocked on Dean’s door every few hours, and tried to coax him out.  It wasn't good for Dean to stay cooped up like that.  But Sam continued to strike out just as much as Castiel had. 

So Sam tried to refocus his efforts on things he could do right now.  After Cain woke up, Sam managed to get him to eat more food.  It seemed like along with Cain’s new willingness to eat, he’d become a little less trapped inside his own head.  Cain still wasn't talking again yet, but he was willing to do basic things to take care of himself like showering, and Sam could swear that Cain was sometimes actually listening to Sam while Sam was monologuing at him.  Little by little he could get through to Cain.  Perhaps if he could get Cain back to the point of talking again, it would help Dean to stop freaking out.  Sam relayed his small successes with Cain to Dean through Dean’s door, but got no response.

When he wasn't with Cain, Sam busied himself by searching for a new hunt.  The sooner that he got Dean back on the road again and feeling a sense of normalcy the better.  Besides, he knew that Dean really needed an outlet for his pent up aggression and need to kill.  Around dinner time Sam finally found something that sounded like a legitimate case, and one that would provide a lot of kills for Dean at that.

“Hey Dean – I found us a new vamp nest to go clean out!  Come on man, you’ll feel better once you've decapitated some vamps and saved a few people doing it,” Sam called through Dean’s door, but got no answer.  “Okay seriously Dean!  You've been in there all day!  Enough is enough!  Either you come out, or I’m kicking the door down!”  Sam wasn't expecting to need to do that.  Surely that would get enough of a rise out of Dean to at least elicit a response?  But all that Sam got was more silence.  So Sam decided to follow through with his threat and kick the door down.

But once Sam managed to get the door open, he was stunned to find an empty room.  Dean was gone.

Sam cursed under his breath, then tried calling Dean’s various cell phones.  But Dean wasn't answering any of them.  Where would Dean go when he was pissed off, scared, and mad at himself?  Nowhere good.  Sam was extremely tempted to try summoning his brother again, and perhaps locking him in a devil’s trap until he forced him to talk this out.  But Sam decided to give Dean some more time to cool off before he resorted to summoning his sorry ass home.  Summoning Dean and forcing him to talk were both things that could easily backfire.  So Sam left voice mails and text messages for Dean, telling him that he’d found a big vamp’s nest that he needed backup for, and to call him when he got the message.  Sam hoped that Dean would get back to him soon.  He was really worried about his brother.  It wasn't like Dean to just take off like this.

 

___

 

A bow-legged denim-clad figure approached, wearing a ski mask.  It was a cold day in Minneapolis, and a few other people were also wearing ski masks, so he went unnoticed.  He noted the news conference happening within eyesight from where he was.  It was perfect timing – the cameras had just started rolling.  It was time to give them something to film.

In one swift move, the figure drew his blade and sliced open the neck of the nearest woman.  Blood sprayed everywhere as she dropped down dead.  A few people started screaming, and like idiots, everyone turned around to look.  The guy nearest to him was completely frozen in fear, so he made for a very obvious next victim.  After that, the figure ran down the street, slicing down every person he came across with quick and brutal killing strikes.  People were panicking and trying to run away, but the streets were crowded and nobody could move nearly fast enough.  Other people were trying to quickly escape into some of the shops lining the streets, but that just created bottle necks that made for more easy victims.  This was too easy.

It didn't take long for the cops to arrive.  Shots were fired at the figure, hitting him square in the chest.  But it wasn't like bullets could hurt him any.  Drawing out his 1911 Colt pistol, the figure open fired back at the police, taking a few of them out.  The police were forced to fall back.  They were probably on their radios calling for backup and SWAT.

The figure took this as his cue to duck out of sight, and disappear without a trace.

 

___

 

Hannah sat in her office, going over reports from various parts of Heaven.  All of her hard work was paying off – Heaven was becoming more orderly by the day.  The return of order and firm central leadership was a welcome one for the vast majority of angels.  This was the greatest era of peace in Heaven since before the apocalypse.  Sure, there were still a few angels that hadn't yet left Earth and returned home, but she would soon implement plans to usher those lost sheep back into the flock.

The doors to Hannah’s office burst open, and one of her subordinates ran into her office in a very unprofessional and undignified manor. 

“Dean Winchester has started to make some big moves,” he panted.  “It is all over the humans’ news.  He just went on a major killing spree in the middle of a city.  The whole thing was caught on video.”  He handed her the human device that could show videos, the 'upod' or whatever it was called.  The video wasn't shot from very close, but she could easily make out the masked figure causing the massacre.  She winced at the sight – the loss of any life was always tragic.

“He’s wearing a mask – are we sure that it is Dean Winchester?” Hannah asked after the video was finished.

“All the details match up – height, body build, clothes, known weapons, fighting style, invulnerability to gunfire, sulfur residue . . . .plus he just had a more minor violent incident.  We just interviewed some victims of a bar fight that was definitely an unmasked Dean Winchester.  He must have gotten a greater taste for human blood, and is now escalating,” he confirmed.

Hannah was a little surprised by this sudden change in behavior.  While research had been suggesting that Dean Winchester had some strange, unknown plot, she hadn't expected such a violent and public move.  The majority of his identified previous kills had been various supernatural monsters of the varieties that he’d been hunting even as a human.  But demons by nature craved bloodshed, and it was possible that a small taste could cause a quick escalation. 

“Then he’s forced our hand.  One of our primary purposes as angels is to be the guardians of humans.  It is a purpose that many of our kind have forgotten about, but it is time to remember.  Part of my master plan for rebuilding Heaven is a return to our roots, and that includes protecting the humans,” Hannah explained.  “If Dean Winchester is now slaughtering humans, then we must accelerate our plans.  This is no longer just about protecting Heaven from whatever Dean Winchester is planning – we must now protect Earth too.  I’m tripling the size of the hunting Dean Winchester task force, effective immediately.”


	51. Chapter 51

Sam tried to set his worries about wherever Dean had gone aside when he went to bed.  After all, he’d learned the hard way that one of the important components of successful lucid dreaming was relaxing.  Sam tried to keep his intentions focused on finding Gabriel as he drifted off to sleep. 

Like before, his dream-self had no problem finding memories of Gabriel.  The problem was that whenever he started getting close to finding out how to contact Gabriel in the near future, Sam would suddenly feel like he was running head first into a brick wall.  Unlike the first time this had happened, Sam managed to not wake up from the shock of it, and kept trying.  But no matter how long Sam kept circling around the moment in time he was trying to see, he was blocked from proceeding, and couldn't find any crack through which he could get in.  Sam was stumped.

Something caught Sam’s attention out of the corner of his eye.  There was a shimmer of color and light coming from one of the objects floating through Sam’s subconscious in the general vicinity that he was in.  Sam’s dream-self squinted at the unfamiliar object.  Was it some sort of coat?

Sudden screams jolted Sam out of his sleep.  Within seconds he was on his feet and armed with both a knife and a gun.  Breathing heavily, Sam listened carefully for any noises that could tell him what he was up against.  After a brief moment of silence he heard the screams again – coming from Cain’s room.  Quickly and silently, Sam raced down the hallway.  Cain’s door was still closed and locked, but Sam burst through anyway.  Cain was still alone, and fast asleep on his bed, but tossing and turning while he screamed and shouted.  Sam breathed a sigh of relief.  It was just Cain having nightmares.  Sam sheathed his knife, then turned his gun’s safety back on and tucked it into the back of his pants.

Sam was cautious when approaching Cain to try to wake him up from his nightmares.  After all, Sam would never forget the time when still-asleep Dean in the midst of post-Hell nightmares had accidentally smacked Sam hard enough to send him flying into the opposite wall.  Sam had lied about the resulting bruises from that, claiming that they had been from the last hunt, in order to try to avoid making Dean feel guilty.  Besides, it had been Sam’s fault for not being more careful, and he always made sure to learn from his mistakes.

“Cain!  Wake up!  It’s just a nightmare, Cain!  Wake up!  Hey!” Sam called loudly to Cain from just outside of the range of Cain’s arms. 

Cain gasped as he suddenly sat up, his eyes flying wide open.  Cain instinctively thrust his hand forward, as if trying to use the demonic powers he no longer had to fling Sam across the room.  Sam was glad that he’d kept his distance none the less, because it seemed to take Cain a moment for his eyes to focus on Sam and to recognize who he was and what was going on.  After blinking back to reality slowly, Cain turned his head away in shame, still breathing heavily.  Sam gave Cain a moment of uneasy silence to himself before trying once again to talk to him.

“Don’t sweat it, okay?  Everyone here has terrible nightmares about the horrible things that they've done,” Sam told him.  Even though Sam hadn't seen much of Cas when he’d been human, he thought that human Cas had probably suffered from nightmares as well.  He figured that the experience of nightmares was probably even more disorienting to beings that had been newly thrust into humanity.

“How do you live with it?” Cain said so softly that for a second Sam almost wondered if he’d imagined the first words that Cain had spoken since becoming human again.  Sam knew that Cain wasn't talking about the nightmares.

“It’s not easy,” Sam admitted, “and it is something that you will always carry with you.  But you can’t change the past, so it helps to put your energy into something that you can change.  For Dean and I, and sometimes Cas too, that’s hunting.  We save people.  We make a difference.  Now I don’t know whether I save more people than I've hurt.  Countless people died because I let Lucifer out of the Cage.  But I have to believe that I can still do good things.”

“Both Heaven and Hell spent centuries manipulating circumstances so that you would unknowingly spring Lucifer.  On the other hand, I chose to inflict great pain on my millions of victims.  It isn't the same thing,” Cain replied quietly, still not looking at Sam, but at least he was talking now.

“Isn't it?  You were manipulated into becoming a demon.  And if your demonic impulses were anything like Dean’s . . . I can see how they took over you,” Sam replied, his voice dropping to a shaky whisper with the terrifying thought of the same thing eventually happening to Dean.  “Especially since you didn't have any support.  But everything you did – it wasn't you, not really.  Besides, the demon cure ritual seems to take that into account.  It’s all about washing the soul clean from the taint brought on by its time in Hell.”

“You can’t honestly believe that when I die, I won’t just go straight back to Hell to be demonized all over again?” Cain scoffed with disbelief.  The underlying sense of hopelessness in his voice was just painful.

“No,” Sam told him firmly, willing it to be true.  “I believe that this is your second chance, your clean slate.  What happens now is up to you.  Sure, if you fall back into your old patterns from when you were a demon, you’ll probably go to Hell again.  But if you chose to do something good with your life – maybe, just maybe you can go to Heaven with Abel and Colette.”

Shock and amazement passed over Cain’s features, and Sam could have sworn that Cain’s eyes got slightly misty at the thought.  It was obvious that Cain had previously always believed that such a scenario was impossible – that he’d never be able to join Abel and Colette in Heaven.  Cain had never thought that he could ever deserve such a thing.  Sam knew the feeling.  And yet, Sam had been to Heaven, even after letting Lucifer out of the Cage.  Even though the logistics of who got into Heaven and who didn't was above Sam’s pay grade, he wanted to believe that maybe Cain could get there too.  Well, after they found a way to open the gates of Heaven so souls could get in again anyway. 

Sam smiled as he watched something new pass over Cain’s features – hope, and a reason to live.

 

___

 

Even though Sam hadn't gotten hardly any sleep the night before, he still went about his morning routine.  He made some coffee, then sat down at his laptop to scan the morning headlines for any signs of a new case.  After all, it’d be great it Sam could line up multiple hunts for Dean as soon as he got back so that it’d be easier to keep Dean’s bloodlust sated. 

“MASS SLAUGHTER BY MASKED MAN”

After Sam clicked on the video, his heart dropped and he momentarily forgot to breathe.  Even from a distance, he’d recognize that body shape anywhere.  _No.  It couldn't be.  There was no way that that could be Dean._   Sam’s eyes kept screaming at him that all the details were correct, from the fighting style to the weapons, and even the bowed legs.  Everything pointed to Dean, including the timing – not long after Dean had secretly run away from the Bunker.

But everything inside of Sam was screaming that there was no way that this could be Dean.  Sam wasn't sure if he was in denial about how far gone Dean really was, or if this was his hunter instincts trying to warn him that something was amiss.  Either way, Sam didn't want to believe it.  At the very least, Sam didn't want to jump to any conclusions until he’d found Dean and heard his side of it.  There could be another explanation for this.  It wouldn't be the first time that something supernatural had framed Dean for mass murder.  But the Leviathan were all gone, and this wasn't the M.O. of a run of the mill shapeshifter.  A small traitorous voice in the back of Sam’s head whispered to him that any monster setting up Dean wouldn't have anything to gain by it.  Sam told that voice to shut up.

Dean still wasn't answering his damn phone.  It just kept going straight to voicemail.  Trying not to scream in frustration, Sam hit the speed dial for Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my Supernatural images has been published in the 2014 GISHWHES Coffee Table book! [Take a look!](https://twitter.com/Psynatural/status/545735708778831873) The prompt was to create an animal hybrid out of one of the Supernatural actors, so I created JaRed Pandalecki!


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow posting speed. RL has been distracting, and I'm also trying to finish a [Dean/Cas Secret Santa](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dcss2014) story before next week's deadline. But I'm still committed to this story, and adore each and every one of your comments/kudos/bookmarks/subscribes!

Castiel met Porosa for an early morning cup of coffee.  He was more distracted than he wished he was.  All of Castiel’s calls to Dean over the past 24 hours had gone straight to voicemail, which left Castiel feeling uneasy and very worried.  But there was nothing he could do about it now, so he tried to focus on getting as much information from Porosa as he could, and then he planned to fly back to Kansas immediately afterwards.  Porosa didn't seem at all put off by Castiel being distracted, if she even noticed.  She was being overtly friendly and happy to share the latest news about Heaven.

“No, the last I heard of the Heavenly weapons, Balthazar had them,” Porosa told him, sipping her frilly Frappuccino then licking the whipped cream off of her lips.  “If the other angels really did find Balthazar’s secret stash, they are keeping it very hush-hush for now.”  Castiel sighed.  The risk of mentioning the possibility of the Heavenly weapons to Porosa hadn't amounted to anything after all.

“Have you heard any specifics on the hunt for Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Most of the whispers I've heard say that he has generally been moving around the country hunting monsters like he used to, but the angels seem to think that that is a cover.  He disappears completely from their radar for lengthy periods of time.  There was also one night when Dean made some precise movements through six cities that they theorize are somehow connected to his evil plans.  From what I've heard though, they have yet to crack the code on that, despite extensive research,” Porosa told him.  Porosa then proceeded to eat the whipped cream off of her coffee by using her maraschino cherry like a spoon.  It was very peculiar.  All the while she kept looking at Castiel expectantly, like she was waiting for him to enlighten her on Dean’s strange behavior.

Castiel was reluctant to admit, that even as well as he knew Dean, that he hadn't immediately been able to grasp why Dean wanted to bar hop through those specific six cities in a single night.  At least none of the other angels had been any quicker than him to grasp the meaning of “B. I. T. E. M. E.” and it seemed to have caused them to “spin their wheels” as Dean would say.  Castiel had learned the hard way that angels had a tendency to overthink simple human things.  This had hardly been the most mature message Dean could have sent them, but Castiel found it endearing none the less.

“Dean has no evil plans, I can assure you . . . ,” Castiel began.

They were interrupted by angel radio.  Dread pooled in Castiel’s stomach.  It was rare that good news was broadcast in such a way.

“Attention all angels.  As most of you are aware, Dean Winchester is now a demon, and his crimes have been escalating.  Yesterday he slaughtered dozens of humans,” the broadcast said.  Although dubbed as “angel radio” in English, such broadcasts were really capable of transmitting any kind of information between consciouses, including visuals.  Castiel’s chest constricted as the video of the masked figure streamed into his head.  The loss of all those lives was horrifying, and the thought that it could have been done by Dean was just too much.  He felt like he was going to be sick, and wanted nothing more than to flip the mental switch to turn off angel radio.  Instead, he forced himself to keep paying attention for any scrap of information that could be useful in protecting Dean later – or for any clue that this was some sort of trick like he desperately wanted it to be.  Unfortunately, human video feeds had limitations, and couldn't capture the full range of wave lengths that angels were capable of seeing. For example, in person, no simple ski mask could obscure a demon’s true face, but such things didn't show up on video.

“Dean Winchester has now been declared Enemy #1 of Heaven.  He, and anyone protecting him, are to be killed on sight,” the broadcast concluded after the video.

Castiel felt numb from the shock of what he’d just seen and heard.  Although Castiel wasn't usually one to fall prey to denial . . . this was just so unlike Dean!  Castiel remembered that he himself had once decimated Heaven and Earth in a killing spree at a time when he hadn't been himself.  Now that Dean wasn't himself, Castiel knew that it was possible that Dean could do things that were otherwise out of character.  But Castiel didn't want it to be true.  There had to be some other explanation for this, didn't there?  Castiel was interrupted from his thoughts when he realized that Porosa was now giving him a very icy glare.

“Dean is a good man,” Castiel insisted, “He is the best man I know . . . .”

“Maybe he was,” Porosa interrupted coldly, “But I will let you live now in the hopes that you will do the right thing.”  With that, Castiel realized that their only ally was now gone.  Castiel left without replying, wanting to get back to Kansas as fast as possible.  His hands were trembling as he drove.  Halfway to the airport his phone rang.

“Have you heard from Dean?” Castiel demanded, too worried not to jump straight to the point.

“No.  I take it you heard, then?  I’m not convinced it was really him, Cas.  I think we need to summon Dean and hear him out,” Sam replied.

“Even if it wasn't him, the angels are convinced that it was him.  There was just an announcement encouraging all angels to hunt down and kill him and anyone protecting him,” Castiel told him.

“Shit.  We've gotta get Dean back to the Bunker ASAP.  I’ll gather the ingredients for the summoning spell, you get here as soon as you can.  After we talk to Dean we’ll figure out our next move,” Sam replied.

 

___

 

Castiel was glad that he’d planned ahead enough to have already booked the first flight back to Kansas, so he was able to make the return trip in record time.  Yet it felt like it was excruciatingly long.  Who knew how many more angels had now joined the hunt for Dean?  And to make things worse, Castiel had no idea what kind of state of mind Dean was now in.  Would Dean still be willing to accept their help in keeping him safe?  Could they even summon Dean in time before the angels found him?

The spell to summon a Knight of Hell was a lot more complicated than an ordinary demon summoning ritual.  Sam was just putting in the finishing touches when Castiel arrived back at the bunker.  Castiel subconsciously did the human habit of holding his breath as Sam dropped the lit match. 

The whole room seemed to vibrate from the strength of the spell.  As Castiel watched, Dean was suddenly yanked into the room through a small temporary rip in space-time.  Castiel breathed a sigh of relief.  Dean was alive and in one piece, albeit looking a bit disoriented – an emotion that quickly turned to fury.

“Son of a bitch!  I thought we agreed – no more summoning me!  I know that I was out of cell range, but damn it that felt like getting yanked through a meat grinder,” Dean yelled, then his eyes widened even more when he realized that he was in the middle of a devil’s trap.  “What the HELL?”

“We had to bring you back.  The angels have declared all-out war on you,” Castiel told Dean, struggling to keep his voice as calm as possible.  Yelling at Dean that the summoning was his own fault for not answering his phone for so long would not help matters.  Castiel had expected Dean’s anger, but that didn't make being forced into this position any easier.  Although he had to wonder how much of Dean’s fury was his normal temper, and how much of it was induced by the Mark.

“So?  Not the first time that all of Heaven has been gunning for me.  And that doesn't explain the damn devil’s trap!” Dean snarled back.  Castiel and Sam exchanged a look.  Dean’s lack of concern over the angel threat was disconcerting.  Had he stopped caring about the growing target on his back?  Did it mean that he already knew why the angels were up in arms?  Castiel tried to push away the tendrils of doubts that were creeping into his mind.  He needed to keep his faith in Dean.  And he hoped that he could still trust Dean to tell him the truth, no matter what that truth was.  So long as he did that, they could find a way to work this out.

“Dean – where were you yesterday?” Sam asked.


	53. Methods for Answers?

“I needed to get away for a while, blow off some steam,” Dean told them with a scowl.  That much, Castiel and Sam had already figured out, and Dean’s words really didn't clarify anything.  Not surprisingly, Dean seemed rather indignant about even being asked to account for where he’d run off to earlier.

“Doing what exactly?” Castiel asked.

“God – what’s with the third degree here?” Dean snapped.

Castiel and Sam exchanged another look.  Dean not knowing why they’d stuck him in a devil’s trap and were asking these questions might be a good sign.  If he really was guilty, wouldn't he be acting differently?  Even though Dean was a convincing actor when hunting, both of them were attuned to the slight nuances that suggested that Dean might be lying.  Right now, there wasn't any indication that Dean knew what was going on.

Sam turned around and grabbed his tablet, held it up for Dean to see, and started the video clip from the news.  Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and stepped closer to the screen.  His frown deepened as he watched the video, but his expression was otherwise unreadable.

“So you think that I killed all those people?  Fantastic,” Dean replied after the video had finished.  He turned away from them and rubbed the space between his eyes.  These did not seem to be the actions of a guilty man.  Castiel felt a little sense of relief, but knew that they were far from out of this mess.

“We’re not saying that, Dean!” Sam replied.  “We know that there could be another explanation for this, but we need to hear your side of it.”

“Right – because that’s why you have me locked in a damn devil’s trap!” Dean snapped.  Castiel could see the pain in his expression.  Even if Dean was innocent, the fact that he and Sam had even entertained slight notions of doubt was hurting Dean.

“Have you had any blackouts?  Any gaps of missing time?” Castiel asked.  While it was unlikely that something else could have the power to be controlling Dean, the thought had crossed his mind.  It was entirely possible that Dean had killed those people without even knowing it.  But Dean scoffed at his question, reading it as Castiel trying to soften the emotional blow of the small bits of doubt that they had in him.  It wasn't an entirely unfounded suspicion.  Castiel did indeed wish that he could lessen the pain this was clearly causing Dean.  But he also couldn't protect Dean if he wasn't thorough.

“No, Cas – I've been painfully awake and aware of every second ever since I first opened these black peepers,” Dean replied, momentarily flashing his black eyes at them before flicking them back to green.  Castiel tried not to wince at the chilling sight of Dean with black eyes, which was always painful.  What was worse though, was just how casually he was flicking back and forth now.  Dean was getting more and more in-tune with his demon side.

“You know we had to make sure, Dean – you would have done the same thing in our place,” Sam pleaded, knowing that his words weren't doing much to make Dean feel any better.  “So tell us your side – where have you been?”  Dean fumed silently for a moment before replying.

“I needed to work off some of my bloodlust, so I went hunting,” Dean explained.  “But I didn't really trust myself to be around humans at that time, so I decided to put my newly enhanced tracking skills to use.  Turns out that I can cover a lot of ground pretty quickly this way.  I've hunted down and torched four different wendigos.”

“Where is your flame thrower?” Sam asked, seeing Dean’s empty hands.

“Don’t need one anymore,” Dean replied with a half-hearted smirk.  He raised his arm palm up, and manifested a large fireball.

“Woah!” Sam yelped in surprise, jumping back.

“It’s not that different from smiting demons,” Dean continued.

That Dean was discovering and comfortably using more demon powers was further proof that Dean was getting more in-tune with his demon side.  Even if Dean was using his new tracking and fireball powers for a good reason, it still made Castiel nervous. 

Dean’s story also raised some unexpected problems.  There was no way that they could verify Dean’s story.  Dean had been off in the woods far away from any eyewitnesses.  Wendigos often hibernated for years at a time.  Dean’s enhanced senses might be strong enough that he could find some of those hibernating wendigos in whatever caves they were hiding away in.  If the wendigos he’d killed hadn't been actively hunting, then there wouldn't be any fresh trails of bodies to follow.  The corpses of the wendigos themselves would have also been burned away to nothing.  What’s more, is that even if they were somehow able to prove that Dean had been hunting wendigos, they wouldn't be able to put a close enough of a timeline to it to give Dean an alibi at the time of the murders.  It was possible that Dean could have hunted wendigos and had something happen to him that made him unknowingly go on a killing spree.

“Look – I did not kill those people,” Dean insisted.  “But if you let me out of here, then we can hunt down the sons of bitches that did.”

Cas and Sam silently agreed through a quick glance.  Even though there was no evidence to Dean’s story, they both still trusted Dean.  Dean hadn't yet done anything to betray their trust since becoming a demon.  The most likely scenario seemed to be that Dean was telling the complete truth – he had been hunting wendigos and he hadn't lost any time, which meant that some sort of supernatural doppelganger had committed the murders.  Dean appeared to be innocent, and could be a valuable asset in hunting down the real culprit.

After they broke the devil’s trap, Dean angrily stormed towards the library to start researching.  Most of his anger was probably rightfully focused on the culprit, but Castiel knew that part of that anger was also understandably directed at him and Sam.  Dean felt betrayed by their small lapse in trust, and Castiel couldn't really blame him.  Knowing that they had good reason to fear that Dean could be compromised didn't really make things feel any better.  This wound would take time to heal.

“Any luck dreaming about Gabriel?” Castiel asked Sam, desperate for some good news.  His hopes were dashed when he heard Sam sigh.

“Every time I get close, I feel like I run into a brick wall,” Sam confessed.

“As an archangel, he would have enough power to block you, but I was not expecting that he would utilize it,” Castiel told him, trying not to feel betrayed by his big brother.  “It could just be a general block towards anyone who might try to find him, not tailored to you.”  But Castiel couldn't fully believe those words.  Unless if Gabriel had deliberately switched off angel radio, then it was unlikely that Gabriel wasn't at least partially aware of the situation.  Gabriel would know that Dean was a demon, and that the Winchesters needed his help.  So why the silence?

“There is something else,” Sam told him.  “Near the wall that I ran into, I saw some sort of brightly-colored coat?  I’m not sure if it has any significance . . . .”

“Did it appear to be woven out of a rainbow of light?” Castiel asked.

“Um, yeah, actually,” Sam replied with surprise.

“You were dreaming about one of the Heavenly weapons,” Castiel exclaimed.

“Wait, what?  A coat is a weapon?” Sam asked.

“It was Joseph’s coat – he was a prophet gifted with prophetic dreams.  When other people with similar gifts wear the coat, it can enhance their powers of prophecy,” Castiel explained.  “But it can also be a dangerous item to the wearer if overused or worn by the wrong person.  Because of this, few people have ever used it.”

“But if I dreamed about it, then maybe that’s a sign that I could use the coat to find Gabriel!,” Sam replied eagerly.

“Theoretically the coat could give you enough of a boost to break through Gabriel’s barriers,” Castiel said carefully, hoping that doing so wouldn't be too dangerous for Sam.  Sam’s own abilities could theoretically work well with the coat, but there was no way to test that besides having him try on the coat.

“So we find the weapons, we find Gabriel,” Sam stated, clearly far more concerned about helping Dean than with his own safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have theories about what the other Heavenly weapons are? Post them below!


	54. A Fresh Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for the unplanned lengthy hiatus. I feel horrible about leaving you guys hanging for so long. RL keeps throwing me lots of curve balls, and it has been very disruptive to my writing. But I’m still determined to finish this story, and I’m going to try to get back on a regular posting schedule. I hope that some of my wonderful readers have stuck around and are ready to continue down this road with me. If you have, you deserve some pie.
> 
> **The Road So Far**
> 
> Dean is slowly losing the fight against his new demonic instincts. The demon cure has been proven to work on Knights of Hell (as tested on Cain), but the cure won’t work until the Mark of Cain is removed. Theoretically Gabriel has the power to remove the Mark of Cain, and Kali confirmed that Gabriel is alive, but the trail has grown cold. Sam’s psychic dreams have been blocked from seeing Gabriel’s location until they can locate Joseph’s Coat, one of the Heavenly Weapons. However, all of the Heavenly Weapons have been stolen from Castiel’s secret hiding place in Heaven. The angels have declared war against Dean after he (or a doppleganger) committed a very public mass murder in Minneapolis. Dean insists it wasn’t him, but his alibi can’t prove him innocent.

Sam felt himself being pulled in multiple different directions at once.  One – he needed to prove who was responsible for setting Dean up to take the blame for the mass killing in Minneapolis.  Two – he needed to find Joseph’s Coat so that he could break through the barriers preventing him from dreaming about Gabriel’s location.  Three – he needed to keep Dean FAR AWAY from the angelic hit squad that had him in their sights.  Not to mention, to top it all off, through it all he had to somehow keep Dean’s hopes up that they really could cure him, and keep Dean from giving in further to his demonic instincts.

With a sigh, Sam decided that he needed to start by giving Dean a morale boost.  Dean was really hurting after Sam and Cas had questioned him about his alibi.  They were still trying to believe in him despite what the evidence was suggesting, but Dean couldn’t see that.  Dean only saw the tiny seeds of doubts that had been planted by the doppelganger.  How were they going to get Dean to believe in himself when he didn’t think that they believed in him either?

So it was time to show Dean some good news – that it was possible to bounce back and rehabilitate to human life after being a Knight of Hell.  All of the hours and hours that Sam had spent trying to help Cain were finally paying off.  Cain had come a long ways in the past few days, so much so that he was practically unrecognizable.  When Dean had last seen Cain, Cain had been so withdrawn he had practically been in a vegetative state, but now…

“Hello Dean,” Cain greeted when Sam led him into the library where Dean and Cas were researching.  Dean startled and looked up at Cain.  Sam knew his brother noticed that Cain was also dressed and groomed for the first time in days, but since Cain was no blue-eyed angel, Dean’s eyes didn’t linger.  Cain was wearing the same clothes as he had when they’d kidnapped him, but they were now freshly laundered.

“Good – looks like you’re walking and talking again,” Dean grunted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  Dean had been very anxious about the topic of Cain ever since they used the demon cure on him.  Dean may refuse to talk about it, but it was obvious that Dean was petrified that the demon cure would hit him as bad as it had hit Cain.  But that was all the more reason why it was important to prove that Cain could bounce back even after everything he had been through.  And if Cain could do it, so could Dean.  Sam had had some long talks with Cain about Cain’s future, and Sam supported Cain’s idea.  Now the trick was going to be presenting this plan in a way that might give Dean some hope for himself too.

“Yes Dean.  Sam believes that this is my second chance at life, and I’m not about to waste it.  I can’t change what I did as a demon, but I can find new purpose in life now.  So it is time for me to leave,” Cain announced.

“Hold up – you were about as talkative as a carrot the last time I saw you, and now you’re ready to take on the world again?” Dean questioned coldly.  Sam glared at Dean for his bluntness and inconsideration for Cain’s feelings, but Cain didn’t seem at all fazed by Dean’s rudeness.  Eons of dealing with heartless demons had no doubt given Cain some pretty thick skin.

“I’ll deal with my pain by helping others work through theirs,” Cain replied evenly.  His voice still carried a little bit of the pain he was feeling inside, but his eyes showed how set and determined he was to work hard on his new goal in life.  The ex-demon who had spent millennia fighting external wars was now ready to take on his internal demons – and win.

“In that case, pissed-off feather dusters are going to be raining down on us pretty soon, so . . . ,” Dean began.

“I’m retired, Dean.  My days of fighting wars are over,” Cain reminded him.  The defiant look in his eyes clearly proclaimed that he wasn’t about to let the Winchesters continue to drag him into their problems.  Sam had already tried to convince Cain to stick around and help at least until Dean was human again, but Cain flat out refused.  If the Winchesters needed an occasional consultant in the future, he would consider giving them whatever relevant information he had, but that was it.  Cain was looking for a clean break from everyone who had anything to do with the supernatural world.

“Dude – we could really use your help on this,” Dean argued.

“I retired from this life long before you were born, and retired I’ll stay,” Cain insisted. 

“This isn’t a life you can walk away from.  Even though you are human and retired, the past always has a way of catching up with you.  Sooner or later, someone is going to hunt you down,” Dean reminded him.

“Just because I’m human doesn’t mean that I’m defenseless.  I am also very proficient at living off of everyone’s radar,” Can replied.  Dean looked like he wanted to argue more, but it was clear from Cain’s expression that he wasn’t going to budge.  Dean sighed.

“So you want to help people now.  What are you going to do then, become a hunter?” Dean scoffed, seemingly skeptical to the idea of an ex-demon being able to redeem himself.

“No, I want to return to a peaceful life far away from the fighting and the killing.  Instead, I’m going to help others like myself who walked down a dark path and are now in need of reform and redemption.  I’ve decided to open a halfway house,” Cain announced.

“Isn’t that kind of like the blind leading the blind?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Dean,” Cas interrupted, locking eyes with Dean.  “Cain has been fighting the effects of the Mark ever since he met Colette.  If anyone can teach former criminals how to avoid the temptations of their old lives, Cain can.”  Dean remained eye-locked with Cas for a moment as he pondered those words, and Sam could see understanding start to dawn on Dean’s face.  This was Cain’s way of using the horrors of his past to do something good.  That was something that the dwindling human part of Dean could relate to.  Dean’s expression slowly seemed to become more human looking again, and Sam held his breath, hoping that this was helping Dean get more back in touch with his humanity.  Cas smiled at Dean encouragingly, like he was thinking the same thing as Sam.  Dean gave a tiny hesitant smile in return.

“I don’t feel the pull from the Mark anymore,” Cain said softly, snapping Dean out of whatever trance Cas’ eyes had put him into.  “All of the temptations that I felt as a demon are gone.  As a human I have a conscious and the freedom to make my own choices.  Now, I may not fully buy Sam’s theory that my second chance gives me a new opportunity to earn a spot in Heaven, but that’s not the point.  This time around, I’m going to live a life that Colette can be proud of.  Maybe even Abel can learn to be proud of me too.”  Dean swallowed and nodded.

“I’m sure that they will be proud of you,” Sam reassured Cain, thinking of how proud he’d be of Dean in the same situation.  “And if there is anything that I’ve learned, it is that there is always a way.  I think that you will see Colette and Abel again, and then they can tell you themselves just how proud they are of you.”  Cain looked like he was still struggling to really believe Sam’s words, but he was getting there.

“Likewise, you Winchesters have repeatedly proven that you can overturn Heaven and Hell to accomplish the impossible,” Cain continued, looking directly at Dean.  “I have no doubt that your brother and your angel will find a way to remove the Mark from you and change you back into a human.  But remember this Dean Winchester – there is life after the Mark.  There will come a day when you no longer feel the Mark’s effects.  I’m living proof of that.  If I can put my demonic life behind me than so can you.  You’ll be back to your ‘saving people, hunting things’ life before you know it.  In the meantime, focus on the people who love you, and live as your Abel and Colette would want you to live.”

Dean’s cheeks turned very pink at the mention of his ‘Colette’ and Sam caught a few quick nervous glances in Cas’ direction, as if worried that his angel would get the implications of Cain’s words.  Cas’ expression didn’t change, and Sam figured that Cas was waiting until Cain was gone to talk to Dean.

Sam had already helped Cain get set up with some of his new necessities, like fake IDs and fake credit cards.  Even though Cain never said it in words, at one point Cain gave Sam a look that seemed to clearly say ‘thank you’ – despite all of the suffering the demon cure had caused him to experience, Cain was grateful to be human again.  After they said their goodbyes, Dean teleported Cain back to his house so that he could begin his second chance at life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did just seriously give The Father of Murder a happy "ending".
> 
> The next chapter will be posted 10/15, unless The Darkness comes to Hawai'i. It's written, I just need to edit it.


	55. Compulsion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG - seriously? As of when I'm posting this, I have 9999 hits. So this means that whoever is reading this first is our lucky 10,000th reader! *dingdingding* Come say hi in the comments!

Castiel paced around the library.  He’d thought that Dean was coming back immediately after dropping Cain off, but apparently Dean had other ideas.  Perhaps Cain had wanted to talk to Dean alone again?  Castiel sighed.  Even though this whole mess never would have happened if Cain hadn’t given Dean the Mark in the first place, Cain had been a demon at the time so Castiel didn’t hold a grudge against him for it.  On the contrary, he was grateful for how cooperative and helpful Cain had become.  Dean had seemed noticeably better by the time that Cain had departed, which was quite the relief.  Furthermore, Cain had just nudged Dean towards Castiel – his “Colette.”  Could Dean be receptive to Castiel stepping more fully into that roll?  Angels didn’t sweat, but apparently falling angels could sweat bullets.  Castiel was an angel falling in many ways.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel greeted Dean with a warm smile when Dean teleported back to the Bunker.  They had been separated less than an hour, but Castiel had still managed to miss Dean during that short time.  How incredibly human he had become, to feel strongly about such short passages of time!

“Hey Cas,” Dean replied, shifting on his feet nervously and not quite looking Castiel in the eye.  Was Dean acting this way because of what Cain had said?  Both Sam and Cain seemed confident that Dean did reciprocate Castiel’s feelings.  But perhaps Dean somehow didn’t realize that Castiel felt this way about him, or thought that Castiel’s feelings had changed because Dean was currently a demon?

“Dean,” Castiel began carefully, trying to figure out the best way to proceed, all the while his vessel’s heart strangely started to beat much faster than usual, which was distracting.  “I promise that soon you’ll have a new chance at human life, just like Cain.  In the meantime, Sam and I can provide even more support for you than Abel and Colette did for Cain.  I can . . .”

“Did you know that Cain killed Colette?  He stabbed her with the First Blade,” Dean interrupted.  “And of course everyone knows that Cain killed Abel too.  So trust me when I say that everyone who gets too close to a Knight of Hell ends up dead.”  Castiel tried to recover from his surprise quickly.

“I am not going to leave you Dean, no matter what.  And I have complete faith that you won’t kill me,” Castiel replied.  After all, Castiel had managed to overcome Naomi’s brainwashing and not kill Dean in the moment of truth.  Surely Dean could likewise prevent himself from killing Castiel under the Mark’s influence?

“The Mark wants me to kill you,” Dean admitted, voice shaking.  “I can hear it louder and louder, trying to force me to kill you.  It knows – it knows that you are going to try to destroy it, and it wants me to end you before you have a chance.  It’d only take me letting down my guard for a moment, and you could end up dead . . . with your blood on _my_ hands.  Every time I close my eyes, the Mark forces me to watch it _over_ and _over_ again.  Because that’s the other thing that the Mark knows – it knows that if I kill you, then there will no longer be anything left of “me” to save.”

Castiel felt tears brimming in his vessel’s eyes.  He’d realized, after his first few deaths, just how much it wrecked Dean when he died.  But this seemed even to indicate something even deeper than ever before.  If Castiel died, then Dean would lose all will to keep fighting.  Dean wouldn’t draw a line in the sand like this very lightly.  He had suffered through many enormously painful losses in the past, some of which he blamed himself for, but he had always found a way to retain his will to keep going.  The fact that Dean’s point of no return was Castiel spoke volumes about just how deep Dean’s feelings for him were.  Castiel did not feel worthy.

“Dean . . . ,” Castiel tried to come up with the words to express all of the emotions welling up inside of him.  Angels weren’t built to even feel so many powerful emotions, let alone express them within the limits of human languages.  He felt such love and complete faith in Dean that there really were no words to express it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Dean told him, turning away.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked.

“I’m a demon, Cas!  I’m a bloodthirsty killer!  Even when I was human I never deserved to have you look at me like that, so there is no way in Hell that I deserve it now,” Dean insisted, looking like he completely believed every word that he said.

“That’s not true, and even if it was, my feelings aren’t just about what you deserve.  Dean, I . . . ,” Castiel tried again while seeking out eye contact with Dean.

“Don’t Cas – just don’t,” Dean cut him off again.  “Now, I need some kills.  Didn’t Sam say something about a new vamp nest?”

Castiel sighed.  As much as he wanted to try to talk things out with Dean, pushing Dean when he was not being receptive was not going to help.  Castiel needed to just continue to show his feelings through actions for now, and try to talk to Dean again later.  Maybe after Dean had worked off some of his anxiety and bloodlust he’d be more willing to let Castiel open up to him.

 

___

 

Sam vaguely remembered a time when cleaning out a vamp nest was actually something difficult.  It used to be that they’d only attempt a vamp nest if they had a large group of hunters with plenty of dead mens blood to go around.  Sam actually kind of missed those days.  Now, he and Cas mostly just hung back and let Dean clean out the nest single handedly.  Sure, they were still on site in case Dean came across something unexpected, but neither of them even got their blades dirty.  It was as far a cry from the ‘good old days’ as they could get.

This wasn’t the first vamp nest that they had cleaned out since Dean became a demon, but there was a major difference from before.  When Dean had first turned, he still killed vamps in a very human way by decapitating them with a machete.  But now Dean’s killing style was unmistakably demonic.  While Dean still used his machete on a few vamps, he seemed to prefer to kill them by using his demon powers.  The same fireball-creating ability that Dean said he’d used on the wendigos apparently could kill vamps as well.  Hell fire, like wood chippers, trumped pretty much everything.  Dean also seemed to really like using an ability that was akin to how angels smited people, only Dean’s hands emitted a bright red light when he burned the life out of his victims.

Sam swallowed as he watched Dean work.  It was kind of terrifying to see Dean so . . . inhuman.  He tried to keep reminding himself that Cain had been like that not long ago, and had still made a full recovery.

“Sam,” Cas said quietly while Dean was preoccupied.  “On the video, the suspect didn’t use any Knight of Hell abilities.  Since these now seem to be Dean’s killing methods of choice, this is more evidence in Dean’s favor.”  Sam’s throat tightened, but he nodded in agreement.  The doppelganger had copied the fighting style of the old Dean, but since Dean was the only remaining Knight of Hell, there was no way that an impostor could copy that.  That ruled out the possibility of Dean being controlled by someone else without his knowledge, didn’t it?  Sam really wanted to believe that.  Of course, that still left the question of who would go to all this trouble to frame Dean for a crime he didn’t commit?  Was their motive to get the angels to turn against Dean, or to get Sam and Cas to turn against Dean?

Sam silently wished Cas lots of luck when Cas and Dean went off on their nightly… wherever they went.  Dean seemed to be on a bit of a post-kill high, but he was still very much not himself.  There was that glint in his eye that Dean was a bit more interested in finding a new hunt than spending the night with his angel.  That was a very ominous host of red flags and blazing sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted on 10/22.
> 
> Some mysteries will be resolving themselves in the next few chapters... feel free to speculate in the meantime!


	56. Plans Crumble

Castiel was frustrated.  The Winchesters weren’t using much money right now since they weren’t driving anywhere, weren’t staying in motels, and only one of them still needed to eat.  So why had Dean been so insistent about spending the night hustling pool?  Castiel suspected that the real reason had nothing to do with money – Dean was just trying to avoid having any kinds of talks with Castiel.  Dean seemed averse to anything that might actually help him.  Castiel sighed.

Dean had previously taught Castiel how to play pool.  The simple mechanics of the game were easy enough to master since Castiel could quickly calculate the angles and velocities required to have the desired effect.  It was the human aspects of the game that stumped him.  In order to earn money in this manner, it was necessary to put up a false pretense to get the other players to underestimate you.  That part was not unlike ruses that soldiers sometimes used on the battlefield.  The difficult part was lying to people’s faces while acting friendly and carefree.  Castiel had no idea how to act carefree.  Even the concept was completely alien to him.

Usually Dean was very patient as he helped Castiel work through his shortcomings.  But this new demonic version of Dean was clearly frustrated by Castiel’s lack of skill.  Even if they didn’t really need the money that badly, Dean wanted to win.  This had led to Dean giving Castiel a few bottles of whiskey before starting a game of pool.  Castiel wasn’t currently angel enough to need a whole liquor store to make him drunk, but a few bottles of whiskey was still only sufficient to give him a slight buzz.  Fortunately that was enough to satisfy Dean that the angel had “less of a stick up his ass” so that they could play pool.

They lost the first few games, as per Dean’s plan.  Dean then gave Castiel a subtle signal to stop purposely missing his shots.  The other players had all put down a few hundred dollars, and were smiling smugly since they were all expecting to win every last dime Dean had.  Instead, Dean cleared the pool table with a single shot.  Dean smirked at the shock on the faces of all of his opponents.

Castiel glared at Dean.  This was not the plan that they agreed on!  Dean was supposed to make it a close game so it wouldn’t be such a blatantly obvious scam.  But now the other players were turning murderous looks towards Dean (and by association, Castiel as well).  This is what the demonic side of Dean had wanted.  Dean had given in to the temptation to start a bar fight.  If Castiel didn’t do something quickly, a lot of humans would be in danger.

The Winchesters had sometimes used a simple technique to clear a building of innocent bystanders.  Castiel reached out with his stolen grace and triggered the fire alarm.  In the brief distraction that it caused, Castiel yanked Dean out of the building, not caring about any of the money left behind on the pool table.  To his immense relief, Dean didn’t fight against Castiel’s ironclad grip on his arm.  Dean was still Dean enough to let Castiel lead him.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean yelled once they were in the alley.  “I wasn’t going to kill them.”

“Even if you weren’t planning on killing them, you are struggling too much with your self control to take that chance,” Castiel replied.  “We’ll start on the next hunt that Sam found for you.  He can join us in the morning.”

 

___

 

Sam could tell that Dean and Cas had had a long night by the looks on their faces when they showed up in the morning.  He tried not to let on just how bad his night had gone too, or just how little sleep he’d gotten.

“Dean and I took care of the Albany werewolf hunt you found, and are ready to start the on the djinn case next,” Cas informed him.  Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise that they’d finished off the hunt that quickly until he remembered that with Dean’s enhanced tracking skills it’d be easy to locate a werewolf.

“Okay, I’m almost ready to go.  Dean, can you help me with this bag of supplies?” Sam replied.  Dean grunted agreement.

Without a word, Dean grabbed the packed bag of supplies, which he flung around like it was practically weightless to him.  But on his way back across the room to Sam and Cas, he walked face first into an invisible wall.  Both Dean and Cas then gave Sam identical looks of disbelief when they saw the faint devil’s trap painted on the ceiling of the Bunker.

“Sammy?” Dean looked so broken and betrayed that it tore Sam’s heart out even more that he had to do this.

“There was another mass killing yesterday, and the timing perfectly matches when you took Cain home,” Sam told them, his voice shaking.  Dean had been gone less than an hour, so whoever was responsible had been ready and waiting for the second Dean left the Bunker.  Sam had discovered the news late last night while he had been researching possible new hunts to keep Dean busy.  He’d spent all night trying to figure out how to handle this before accepting that there was only one thing he could do.

“The only killing I did yesterday was a nest of vamps and a lone werewolf.  I haven’t killed any humans,” Dean snapped angrily.  But the sad thing was, it didn’t matter if Sam believed him or not.  Dean could be telling the complete truth and Sam still couldn’t let him out of that devil’s trap.

“And we believe you Dean,” Sam insisted, ignoring the tiny flecks of doubt that still persisted.  “But that’s not the point.  Whoever is setting you up for these crimes knows EXACTLY when you are not with Cas and me.  The timing is too perfect to be a coincidence.  So unless we keep you on lockdown, they are going to keep killing more people and pin it on you.”

“What about Cain?” Cas asked.  “Wasn’t he with Dean during that time?”

“Cain has gone AWOL again and won’t answer his phone,” Sam reported back with a sigh.  This was hardly unexpected considering Cain’s insistence that he wanted a clean break with the Winchesters, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.  Was it really so hard to just pick up the phone and confirm Dean’s alibi?

“What about Crowley’s coin?  Did the coin come back?” Cas asked.  When Cas had smited the magic coin Crowley placed on Dean he’d scattered the atoms, but it wasn’t impossible that the bewitched coin could have reassembled itself.  The coin supposedly wasn’t a tracking device, but none of them were about to take Crowley’s word on that.

“No,” Dean insisted.  But at the look Cas gave him, Dean then proceeded to empty out all of his pockets.  There was no sign of the coin, any kind of tracking devices, or any other new or unfamiliar objects.

“Let me out and I’ll help you figure out whoever is tracking me,” Dean begged.  “I won’t go anywhere alone again until we sort this out.”

“Sam, maybe we should . . . ,” Cas began.

“Cas – can you really be sure that Dean won’t be out of our sight for even a moment?” Sam asked.  Cas looked like he was going to continue to argue in Dean’s favor, but he hesitated.  Even that brief hesitation was enough to watch Dean’s face crumble.  Dean slumped down on the floor in defeat.

“Dean . . . ,” Cas tried to plead.

“No, you’re right.  It’s smart not to trust a demon,” Dean replied bitterly, hanging his head.

“Maybe it’s your phone.  Let me try hacking into your phone and see if you’re being tracked that way,” Sam suggested.  The sooner they figured out who was tracking Dean, the sooner they could plan a counterstrike.  In the meantime, it seemed safe to assume that this enemy could track Sam and Cas too, so it would know their plans before they could launch a counter strike.  They had to disable the tracking system if they had any hopes of taking the enemy by surprise.  Besides, they might be able to figure out a way to trace the tracking system back to the source.

Dean tossed Sam his phone, but refused to look at either of them.

“I’ll look through the Men of Letters archives on magical tracking while you follow up on the phone,” Cas suggested.  With one last forlorn look at Dean, they both went to go research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/29 - My DCBB 2015 will be posted, which is a sequel to Longing To See Your Wings  
> 11/05 - The next chapter of Righteous Demon will be posted


	57. Appearances

Sam spent hours hacking into Dean's phone, looking for any sort of spyware that could explain how Dean was being tracked.  When that failed, he tried to remotely hack into the phone company to see if anyone else had been looking through their records on Dean.

"This would be a really great time to come back from Oz, Charlie," Sam mumbled to himself when he hit another firewall.  Sam had taught himself a lot of hacking tricks throughout the years, and Charlie had taught him even more, but just wasn't as amazingly gifted at it as she was.  He’d hacked into GPS data on phones all the time, but trying to find out who else had been doing the same thing was a lot more tricky.  There were always digital fingerprints left behind when someone accessed files, but most hackers were very good at trying to cover their tracks.

Eyelids drooping, Sam was persistent and kept looking for new backdoors he could exploit to get the information he was looking for.

 

___

 

Sam wasn't sure when he dozed off, but when he realized that he was lucid dreaming he decided to make the most of the opportunity it presented.

First, Sam guided his dreams to put all of his doubts about Dean to rest once and for all.  It was very easy to coax his dreams to show Dean's alibi during the two times that Dean was gone.  Sam watched the whole thing zoom past him in high speed, and breathed a huge sigh of relief.  Their trust hadn’t been misplaced.  Dean was telling the truth.  The swell of emotions that welled up in Sam almost knocked him out of his lucid dreaming state, but he managed to hang on and stay focused on his mission.

Was there a way to use these lucid dreams to find out who the real killer was?  All of his dreams up until this point had focused on different spots in Dean’s actual time line, but could he bend those rules enough to see things that effected Dean?

Sam forced himself to remember those video clips of “Dean” on a killing spree, and felt a spark from his subconscious.  He was picking up on something!  It took a lot of effort not to get so excited that the connection would snap.  Focus.  Keep calm and save Dean.  Sam carefully tried to coax the information into his awareness.

Slowly a familiar memory came into view.  He and Dean were in Alastair’s old office, killing Dean’s old-friend-turned-demon, Tony, and stealing back Kali’s sword.  Sam was very confused.  What did this have to do with the doppelganger?  Sam watched Dean teleport Sam’s dream-self back to the Bunker, but Sam’s current awareness stayed in Hell.

“Aaaand scene!” boomed Crowley’s voice from an intercom system.  “Thank you, and please return to your previously scheduled torturing.”  The hoard of demons who had just broken down the door all turned around and left.  Some of them were grumbling under their breath about how they’d wanted to finally shed some Winchester blood.  They were shushed by other demons who looked equally displeased about getting all worked up for Crowley’s little farce and then not getting to actually do anything.

Crowley set that whole thing up?  Why?  What was the point of putting them through a lengthy charade just to give them what they wanted in the end?  Sam glanced around the room discovered a tiny camera hiding amongst all of the weapons in the room.  Crowley had been watching them the whole time.  Sam reached out with his mind to see if he could follow the camera back to its source.

The world blurred around him again as Sam was transported.  The room Sam found himself in was a plush corner office that looked like it belonged to Crowley.  Crowley was lounging on a throne next to a large hellhound.  Apparently Sam’s new powers came with the ability to see hellhounds.  The hellhound’s head was in Crowley’s lap, and the beast looked like she was in absolute bliss from the way Crowley was petting her.  Crowley had been watching a television screen along with another familiar face.

“I still don’t understand why you used a spell to make that low level demon’s meatsuit look like mine,” Tony grumbled.

“Because anything that gets under Dean’s skin will help him to lose more of a hold on his lingering humanity.  Don’t worry – you’ll get your chance to shed some blood,” Crowley replied with an annoyed tone that implied he’d had to repeat himself several times.  “Now – did you take good notes on Dean’s fighting style?”

“Yeah, that’ll be easy to duplicate.  Can I start now?” Tony asked hungerly.

“Not just yet,” Crowley insisted.  “That part of the plan won’t work until tensions are much higher between Dean, his brother, and his angel.  The two of them have to think that they’ve lost our dear squirrel, and then he’ll have no one to turn to but me.”

Sam had known all along that Crowley had been doing his best to manipulate Dean into becoming more demonic, but he had underestimated just how far reaching Crowley’s plans were.  Had Crowley had this whole plan in mind ever since he tricked Dean into getting the Mark of Cain in the first place?  Just how many of all the things that they had suffered through lately been a direct result of Crowley’s interference?  This whole time, Crowley had been playing chess with their lives while they had just been trying to get through one step at a time.  What was Crowley’s end game?  Crowley probably had something horrible planned for Dean once he got him right where he wanted him.

They needed to come up with a plan to combat this.  Surely if Sam explained the whole story to Dean it would prevent him from going to Crowley?  This had to be enough evidence to get Dean to stop trusting Crowley.  If the three of them worked together they could come up with a plan to kill Crowley.  Either that or expose Crowley to the angels as the real culprit behind the mass killings and see if they could get the angels to help them take out Crowley.  Sam doubted the angels would take Sam’s dreams as sufficient evidence, but now that they knew what they were looking for maybe they could find something concrete from the crime scenes.

Suddenly, Sam was snapped back to consciousness by someone shaking him awake.  An extremely freaked out angel was standing over him.

“Sam – Dean’s gone!” Cas told him, eyes wide with horror.

 

___

 

Never before had Castiel wanted to smite Crowley so badly.  Even Sam looked a little scared at the look in Castiel’s eyes after Sam filled him in on the true extent of just how much Crowley was manipulating Dean.  Naturally Sam had nothing to worry about, but Castiel was going to strike sheer terror into the twisted black heart of Crowley the next time he saw him. 

Castiel was so shaken up that he was accidentally making the lights flicker for the first time in years.  He needed to get his emotions under control if he was going to be any help to Dean.

They couldn’t figure out how Dean had gotten out of the devil’s trap, but the how of it didn’t seem to matter as much as the fact that he’d left.  Dean had taken off again immediately after he’d said that he wouldn’t.  Was Crowley’s evil scheme working?  Did Dean no longer feel that he could come to him and Sam for help?  The thought of Dean not feeling like he could trust him broke Castiel’s heart.  Now he really understood why Dean had been so shattered those times when Castiel had wrongly not gone to Dean when Castiel needed help.  Now their situation was reversed, and the thought of Dean being manipulated into feeling like Crowley was the only person Dean could turn to was devastating.

Was Dean with Crowley now?

Castiel blamed himself for playing right into Crowley’s plans.  Why couldn’t he have shown Dean more trust?  Castiel had to find Dean and somehow make things right.

Sam and Castiel rushed to complete the summoning spell to bring Dean back to them.  Sam had stockpiled some of the rare ingredients after the last time they’d had to summon Dean, just in case.  He’d also kept all of the supplies in a hidden place to avoid pissing Dean off that Sam was making contingency plans for if Dean disappeared again.

But the summoning spell didn’t work.  Dean had somehow found a way to prevent being summoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a good time to remind my dear readers that there will be a happy ending to this fic after we get through all the angst. The next chapter will be posted on 11/12, and we will finally return to Dean POV!
> 
> Also, if you haven't already, be sure to check out my DCBB Wind Through Feathers!


	58. Puppetmaster

Dean paced the narrow confines of his prison.  His initial shock and hurt over Sam trapping him had faded away to be replaced by anger.  Even if Sam claimed that he believed Dean, he wasn’t treating Dean like he was innocent.  Dean knew he was innocent, damn it!  Even though he was having some self-control issues, he hadn’t slipped so far as to start murdering civilians in cold blood.  Dean could account for every single minute of the two times in question.  He just couldn’t prove any of it.

He wanted out.  He wanted to go kill something.  Dean was distantly aware that the human part of him would care about the people who were dying because of the doppelganger.  But it was hard to focus on that when he was filled with so much anger at being trapped here by his own brother.  Even if Sam’s reasoning was logical, and Dean might have done the same thing if their positions were reversed, he still felt betrayed.  Cas had sided with Sam too, which felt like another knife in his chest.

The Mark was screaming at him to kill Sam and Cas.  Thoughts and images kept flying through his head – how he could call on all of his Knight of Hell powers to cause the Bunker to fall apart around him, likely breaking the devil’s trap in the process.  Sam and Cas might be killed by the collapsing Bunker, and if not, it’d be easy enough for Dean to finish them off even without his precious First Blade.

Dean shook his head.  No.  He didn’t want that.  That was just the Mark talking.  Even if the deceptive whispers of the Mark tried to pretend to be Dean’s own thoughts sometimes, they weren’t.  Dean would never want that.  That went against everything he had ever thought and felt before he became a demon.  Dean couldn’t bear to kill Sam and Cas, even if they did leave him locked in here.  But the Mark wouldn’t stop shouting at him.  The Mark kept showing him images of their dead bodies, and trying to convince him that it would feel good to give in and let the Mark take over.  Dean wasn’t sure how long he could listen to it before he lost his mind.  He had to get out of here before he snapped.  He had to get as far away from temptation as possible.

After the last time that Dean had gotten stuck in a devil’s trap, he’d started keeping a small vile of human blood with him in case of emergency.  He figured that this counted as an emergency.  Every minute he stayed here was another minute that the Mark would try to tempt him to kill the two people who were his whole world.  Dean poured a little blood into his cupped hand and spoke the incantation that would make a call to Crowley.  Even though Dean had never used that spell before, the words rolled off of his tongue like he’d been using them his whole afterlife.  All this demon stuff really had become second nature.  That realization didn’t scare him as much as it should.

“Devil’s Delight Cottaging Service – how can we please you today?” Crowley replied a minute later.

“Crowley, get your ass up here and bust me out of a devil’s trap, but first bring me a way to cloak myself from any kind of magical tracking and a way to keep myself from being summoned.  Can you do that?” Dean asked.

“Well, normally I prefer to get someone to at least buy me dinner first, but have it your way squirrel.  I’ll be up shortly,” Crowley replied.

True to his word, Crowley arrived at the Bunker a few minutes later carrying two very pungent smelling hex bags.  Crowley snapped his fingers to break the devil’s trap and then handed Dean the hex bags.

“Do I even want to know what’s in these?” Dean asked, wincing a little at the smell as he placed the hex bags in his pocket.

“Does it matter?  Results guaranteed or your money back.  Shall we?” Crowley replied. 

With a snap of fingers they were transported down to Crowley’s office in Hell.  Juliette wasn’t around this time, but otherwise it looked exactly the same as the last time Dean was here.

“I saw your little escapades on the national news.  Moose and Feathers locked you up for it, did they?” Crowley continued, pouring a glass of scotch for Dean and another one for himself.

“I wasn’t the one who did those, but someone wants everyone to think it was me.  I need to find out who did this,” Dean explained, downing his scotch in one gulp.  Crowley refilled his glass.

“Well, rumor has it that all of the holy rollers are out for your head now.  Did any of them have any old personal grudges against you that would make them want to send the whole flock after you?” Crowley suggested.

Dean laughed bitterly.  If he had a nickle for every supernatural entity who had a personal grudge against them, he’d never need to hustle pool again.  But were any of them of the haloed variety in a position to frame him like this?  Well, supposedly Heaven was being ruled by Hannah now, and she’d tried to force Cas to kill him before.  Sure, Cas had vouched for her change of heart after Metatron’s deception was revealed, but then again Cas was always too willing to hand out second chances.  As far as Dean could tell, Hannah had both motive and means to set him up.

“I never can keep those self-righteous douchebags off my back for very long,” Dean replied with a sigh, gulping down his second glass of whiskey.  The alcohol still wasn’t affecting him at all, but the taste of it made him feel better.  Crowley wrinkled his nose at the way Dean was downing his expensive scotch like it was cheap booze, but miraculously refrained from commenting.

“What if there was a way to put them in their place for good?” Crowley suggested with a sly devilish grin.

“And how would we do that?” Dean asked skeptically.

“Heaven’s power is not what it used to be.  The new government in place is still fragile enough that Heaven is ripe for a hostile takeover.  Think about it – we could rule over all of Heaven and Hell!” Crowley proclaimed with excitement.  Dean snorted.  All of the Hellfire smoke must be making Crowley delirious.

“They’re not as weak as you think.  Someone up there stole a large stash of Heavenly Weapons.  Go up against Heaven now and you’ll probably be quickly annihilated by angelic nukes,” Dean told Crowley.

“Oh squirrel, you’re clearly behind in the latest news from Cosmos Weekly.  The angels don’t have the Heavenly Weapons.  I do,” Crowley announced smugly.

That was a curveball that Dean didn’t see coming.  Dean was vaguely aware of his mouth opening and closing a few times like a fish before he was able to compose his thoughts.

“You’ve got the Weapons?  How?  They were locked away in Heaven,” Dean asked.

“I’ve had angels on the payroll for years.  I had one of them steal the weapons for me,” Crowley replied coolly.

“Well in that case, are you out of your freakin’ mind?” Dean demanded.  “Giving Heavenly Weapons to an army of backstabbing demons is like taping a ‘smite me’ sign on your back!”

“Who said anything about handing out weapons that powerful to the masses?  Give me a little credit here!  The only ones getting anywhere near those weapons are a few select trustworthy generals.  Say the word and you can help lead the charge,” Crowley countered.

“You’re forgetting something.  We’re demons.  We can’t go to Heaven,” Dean countered.

“We are not allowed to go to Heaven.  There’s a difference.  We’re still human souls, so we have no issue physically going into Heaven – we’re just not welcome.  If we storm the portal to Heaven and break down their defenses with one of the Weapons that’s particularly suited to the task, then we can slip through to the other side of the pearly gates easy enough,” Crowley explained.

“You would put a Heavenly Weapon in my hands, and trust me not to kill you with it?  Even with this Mark on my arm?” Dean asked.  What kind of a twisted world did he live in where the King of Hell trusted him more than his own brother and his . . . Cas.

“The Mark likes those who feed it, doesn’t it?  I can offer it all the kills that it could ever want, and power to go with it.  After the battle, I’ll let you rule over a kingdom of your choice,” Crowley offered.  “So Dean, do we have a deal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted on 11/19  
> I am writing a fantasy/supernatural novel for publication during NaNoWriMo this month. [Check out the details](https://www.patreon.com/Psynatural) including a summary and some art, along with mentions of my other current and future projects.


	59. Ominous Awakenings

The Mark was thrilled about Crowley’s plans to take over Heaven.  Dean could feel the Mark pumping excitement and bloodlust into his veins.  A major battle would provide plenty of opportunities to kill.  The craving to hold his precious First Blade in his hand again was so strong that it was physically painful to be separated from it.  But Sam had probably demon-proofed its hiding place too well for Dean to even get near it, so a Heavenly Weapon would have to do for now.

Some small voice in the back of Dean’s mind was yelling at him not to do this, but it was almost completely blocked out by the power of the Mark.  Maybe if Dean could feed the Mark with faceless angels that meant nothing to him then the Mark might be more willing to let Sam and Cas live.  That wasn’t much of a comfort though to what remained of Dean’s dwindling humanity.

Crowley proudly led Dean to his stash of Heavenly Weapons.  Dean really needed to read the Bible more closely one of these days, because he had absolutely no clue what most of this crap was.  He’d seen the broken pieces of Moses’ staff before.  Some other swords and such were very recognizably weapons, but others seemed a bit more random, like musical instruments and a crumpled rainbow colored coat.  Years of dealing with cursed objects prevented Dean from underestimating any of them.  He especially kept his distance from what he suspected was the Arc of the Covenant since he couldn’t get a certain scene from Indiana Jones out of his mind and didn’t want to take his chances.  After all, to his knowledge none of these weapons had ever been used against a Knight of Hell, and he wasn’t about to test his immortality with them.  If anything had the juice to kill him, it was weapons hand-crafted by the big man himself.

One of the golden scimitars started humming and developed a faint green glow around it when Dean walked by.  Dean instinctively jumped back, immediately on high alert of any weapon that would react to his mere presence.

“Now, you can have your pick of the lot, but that one in particular essentially has your name all over it,” Crowley chimed in.  Dean eyed him with suspicion.

“And why is that?” Dean asked.

“Michael’s Sword, meet Michael’s Blade,” Crowley announced, gesturing between Dean and the scimitar.  “After all, what would you have expected Michael to have done when he was wearing you to the prom?  Glare at Lucifer to death?”  Dean had honestly not really given much thought to the details of how Michael and Lucifer were supposed to have had their apocalyptic showdown.  Everyone would have been completely screwed anyway had he not been able to stop them, so it hadn’t really seemed to matter how they would die.

“I’m not Michael,” Dean replied with a scowl, still hating being called the ‘Michael’s Sword‘ as much as when Zachariah had first revealed his vessel status to him.

“You’re still his true vessel, the Righteous Man, well Righteous Demon now, more like.  You saw for yourself that the blade clearly responds to you.  It shouldn’t matter that you’re still in the driver’s seat instead of Michael,” Crowley argued. 

As much as Dean always hated to admit it when Crowley was right, Crowley might have a point on this one.  They were nowhere near the Cage that still contained Michael and Lucifer (and Adam).  It was only Dean that the Michael’s Blade was responding to.  When Dean had jumped back, the Blade had stopped glowing.  Dean cautiously took a step forward again, and watched the glow return.  The glow didn’t seem hostile or threatening.  On the contrary, it felt very welcoming, like it was trying to reach out to him.  Dean still regarded it with suspicion.  After all, plenty of very deadly cursed objects sucked you in by appearing all innocent and friendly.  Besides, even if the human version of Dean might have been able to wield the blade safely, it might decide to smite his demonic ass.

Then there was the matter of how his own being was reacting to the Michael’s Blade.  Two different parts of him were having two very different reactions to it.  This was the opposite of the First Blade, which fed off of the Mark and Dean’s new demonhood.  On the contrary, the Michael’s Blade resonated with that sliver of humanity deep inside Dean that hadn’t been extinguished yet.  The Mark seemed torn about this new Blade.  On one hand, the Mark craved more power, and this was likely one of the most powerful blades in the universe, even more powerful than the First Blade.  On the other hand, the Mark resented anything that encouraged Dean to cling to his humanity, and hated the sense of Righteousness the Michael’s Blade projected.

Different sides of Dean warred inside himself, but eventually reached a compromise.  This new holy scimitar could not be fully trusted, not like his precious First Blade, but there is no way that he could refuse all of the power that it could provide him with.  Dean took a leather cloth out of his pocket.  As he approached the Michael’s Blade, the green glow grew brighter.  Dean wrapped the leather around the handle of the scimitar and tied it down tightly so that his grip wouldn’t slip.  Maybe he could wield this weapon without feeling the brunt of whatever new effects it might have on him.  Just like how the leather had once insulated him from the effects of the First Blade, it also provided a barrier between him and the Michael’s Blade.  As Dean picked it up, the blade erupted with bright green flames.  He had to admit it – that was pretty badass.

How in the Hell had Dean ended up with a personal connection to two of the most powerful weapons in the universe?  His life was weird.

Crowley looked a little green around the gills as he watched Dean make a few practice swings.  He had every reason to worry, since it would be all too easy for him to kill Crowley now and take all of the Heavenly Weapons for himself.

The only thing saving Crowley was the Mark’s greed.  The Mark wanted to rule both Heaven and Hell.  If Dean killed Crowley now, he might have to waste time squashing a demonic rebellion before he could lead an army against Heaven.  In the meantime, if any of Crowley’s angels-on-payroll went squealing back to Heaven, then they’d lose any element of surprise.  Dean could just as easily kill Crowley later.  First, they had a war to win.

 

___

 

All of the angels on playground duty had short shifts.  They’d discovered the hard way that humans found it highly suspicious when they saw the same child play on the swing sets for fourteen hours straight.  Dealing with the human police called to investigate had been cumbersome until they’d converted the local police into vessels.  But even then, there were many “good samaritans” who kept calling in, which threatened to blow their cover.  So the angels learned to switch out which kids guarded the portal every two hours.

The job was never boring or dull.  There seemed to be a constant stream of traffic going in and out of Heaven.  The angels had tried to figure out how to create more portals, or better yet, to reopen Heaven’s main gates, but to no avail.  Naturally, Metatron wasn’t talking.  Some of the best jailers in Heaven had been trying to coerce Metatron into spilling his secrets after subjecting him to very… persuasive means.  But they all knew that it could take centuries to get Metatron to crack.

Saniel missed the days when she had been posted at more peaceful posts.  At some of her past positions she’d been able to go centuries without being interrupted, long enough to watch glaciers carve out what later became known as the Great Lakes.  Watching nature was much more pleasant than guarding the portal.  At least the park felt a bit like a more orderly version of nature.

However, nature was not supposed to act like this.

Dark clouds rolled in at an unnatural speed.  The air crackled with a dark electricity.  Flocks of birds took flight, screaming out warnings of danger to all the animals stuck on the ground below.  Saniel reached out with her senses, and felt animals of all shapes and sizes stampeding away from the area.  Even the tiniest of insects were making an attempt to flee.  But not all animals could run away.  Humans liked to keep some sorts of “farm animals” boxed in by fences.  The cattle in the area had all grown up on overcrowded farms where they had no room to exercise, and thus were too fat and weak to break down the strong fences.  When the hellhounds arrived, they easily eviscerated a few thousand cows in a matter of hours.  A few foolish humans tried to defend their livelihood against the invisible monsters attacking them, but the humans were no match for the pack.

However the hellhounds were just one of the many demonic omens foretelling of something far worse about to come.

Something major was about to happen, and the portal to Heaven was going to be right in the middle of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to one of my readers, Dani, who [suggested](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/21637451) that "maybe there's an actual fire blade that it belonged to Michael, separate from the usual archangel blade . . . something that myabe only Michael and his True Vessel can use?"
> 
> 11/23 - I will post my Art Masterpost for a DCBB 2015 story  
> 12/03 - The next chapter of Righteous Demon will be posted  
> Meanwhile [I'm 3/5ths-way through NaNoWriMo](https://www.patreon.com/Psynatural)!


	60. Jericho

Crowley watched proudly as his demon army marched towards the Heaven portal, led by a genuine Knight of Hell.  The skies above them mirrored the turmoil about to take place on the ground, with storm clouds black as night, fierce winds, fire dancing through the sky in the wake of lightning bolts, and thunder claps louder than all the screams of Hell.

Not since the days of the apocalypse had Heaven and Hell been engaged in such a massive battle.  But this time Hell had the advantage.  The archangels were all dead or imprisoned.  The demons had full possession of the Heavenly Weapons.  Hell stood mighty and strong while Heaven was still disorganized and weak.  It was good to be the king, and soon he would be emperor.  Crowley, Emperor of All had a nice ring to it.  Earth would essentially be his too anyways.  After all, he had finally broken up the only team of humans who could have kept him from taking over the world.

It would take seven days of laying siege to the portal of Heaven before they could storm through, but his army was well prepared.  He would have rather stormed the main Gates, but they had been closed for business since the Fall.  His weapon might still work on the Gates, but as a demon, he physically couldn't get near the side of the Gates outside Heaven.  But no matter.  It might be slower for his army to storm through the bottleneck of the portal, but their weapons should still give them the upper hand.  Each of his generals was armed with a Heavenly Weapon (or fragment), his officers had angel blades, and most of the cannon fodder at least had some holy oil Molotov Cocktails (most of them were old Abaddon supporters anyway so no loss when they got smited by angry balls of burning feathers).  His own loyal lower ranking demons were hanging back to serve as reinforcements, all well-armed of course.  Crowley took care of his own.

Of course, the angels weren't caught completely by surprise.  Demonic omens were fantastic for striking fear into the heart of your enemies, but were ill suited for sneak attacks.  But circumventing that little bit of cosmic red tape was currently above Crowley's pay grade.  Perhaps in the future he'd have the juice to change that, albeit by then it might not matter anymore.  Meanwhile the holy rollers had been given enough warning to send a few troops downstairs.  It wasn't much of an army since currently Heaven's troops were spread pretty thin.  More would come once word got out.

But since the angels still had clipped wings they would have to travel via slow and cumbersome human methods, which meant that their opposition couldn't amass a formidable force for a few days at least.  After all, according to Crowley's inside sources, many of the angels had been taking up posts around the world.  It was supposedly some nonsense about returning to their original goal of protecting humans.  But this would give his army an excellent opportunity to decimate the feeble enemy forces currently guarding the portal, armed only with their angel blades.  This was going to be almost too easy.

As soon as they had the angels surrounded, Crowley gave Squirrel the signal to lead the charge.  With such a big battle before them, it was doubtful that Dean could even hear himself think over the bloodlust of the Mark.  He had that now familiar crazed look in his eyes that scared even the most hardened of solders.  While angels might pretend to be emotionless puppets for whoever they were following, Crowley had had enough experience with crazy rouge angels to know that that wasn't really true.  He'd bet this lot was shaking in their halos right now.  But they did their duty and fought to the death.

Predictably, most of the angels assumed Dean was the ringleader and headed straight for him pig-stickers a blazing.  It was a trap of course.  Dean was surrounded by officers carrying the pieces of the Staff of Moses.  Even when broken, the fragments were stronger when in proximity to one another.  Angels fell victim to waves of plagues of blood, boils, and grace-eating locusts.  Those who made it close to Dean weren't in good condition to put up a strong fight.

It was a great diversion really.  Although it made it very obvious who the smart angels were since they were the ones not falling for it.  Crowley and his posse were the real threat to them.  With him were seven generals, each carrying one of Joshua’s Seven Rams’ Horns.  These seemingly humble musical instruments had the ability to break down all of the protective magical barriers the angels had erected around the portal.  They started playing their horns while marching around the portal seven times.  The barriers around the portal started to vibrate as they resonated with the deadly music.  No walls or barriers in creation could withstand this assault for more than seven days.

The smart angels, and many of the dumb ones that just heard the music and figured out what it meant, all came rushing at their small band.  Naturally, the musicians were not unprotected.  Crowley lifted his chosen weapon - a bronze snake with a head on each end.  One head had the power to heal anyone who looked at it.  The other head poisoned everyone who saw it.  The best part was that this magnificent weapon wasn't actually totally dependent on the feather dusters looking the right way.  Whoever wielded it could direct its power.  So Crowley could keep all of his VIPs in fighting shape while incapacitating his enemies.  The snake venom worked just as well on angels as it did on the human armies it had once taken down long ago.  By the time they had completed the first lap, the band had to step over (or sometimes on, just for fun) the vessels of the dead and dying.  Some angels were trying to med-evac their fallen brethren.  The angel's leader, Hannah, seemed to be directing these attempts to save lives.  But that was no fun at all.

 

___

 

Hannah cursed herself for not making capturing this demonic Dean Winchester a bigger priority earlier.  She had expected more attacks on humans, but she hadn't anticipated that he would raise an army to attack Heaven directly - with their own weapons no less!  It was soon apparent that fighting back directly wasn't working.  They were getting slaughtered!  She tried to direct her best Healers to save as many of her siblings as possible. But the demons were living up to their reputation for truly unspeakable cruelty.  The demons started specifically targeting their Healers.  At this rate, they were going to lose all of their available Healers.  Reluctantly, but feeling she had no other choice, Hannah ordered everyone to retreat so they could regroup and come up with a new plan.  For now they tried to get all the survivors they could behind the safety of the magical barrier surrounding the portal.  She was very grateful that the demonic omens had given them enough warning to fortify the portal.

However Hannah recognized the Seven Ram's Horns of Joshua and realized the time limit they imposed.  They had only seven days to win this battle, or the demons would break through to Heaven.  The very thought of demons in their home, in the most holy place in the universe, made her feel sick.  Where was God when they needed him?  How had the demons even gotten ahold of the Heavenly weapons anyway?  The last she’d heard, Castiel had had them.  Had the demons stolen them from Castiel, or had Castiel betrayed them again?  Hannah wasn’t sure, but Castiel would surely have some answers if they could interrogate him.  Just because neither Castiel nor Sam had been spotted on the battlefield yet didn’t mean that they weren’t still on Dean’s side.  Not much was known about the Mark of Cain, but one of her advisors had heard a rumor that the bearer of the Mark could turn others into Knights of Hell as well.  Was that how Dean Winchester was compelling his brother and Castiel to follow him?  She hoped that Castiel had not fallen so far as to hand over the weapons out of his own free will.

In any case, she and all of the angels with her were trapped by the demonic siege until help arrived.  She had to come up with a way to use their reinforcements to turn the tide of the battle, then send detailed instructions to her most trusted on the outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo chapter 60! How did this story get this long? @.@
> 
>   * Special thanks to  elwarre for helping me come up with ideas for biblical items that could be used as weapons.
>   * I officially won NaNoWriMo by reaching 50k words in one month on my upcoming fantasy novel. Summary and more info [here](%E2%80%9Dwww.patreon.com/Psynatural%E2%80%9C).
>   * Check out my Art Masterpost for the DCMB story Mind Over Matter.
>   * Calling all fellow writers: my Supernatural Reverse Bang art of Charlie/mermaid needs a pinch hitter! See and claim the art here (need to join the LJ comm to view). Even if you aren't a writer, I'd appreciate any signal boost you can give.
>   * A bunch of us are having a [massive Cas/Misha appreciation tweet party](https://twitter.com/Psynatural/status/672689353416577024) during the Mid Season Finale this Wed 12/9 - join us and spread the word!
> 



End file.
